


Home is in Your Love

by jetblacklilac



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, first crushes, how come no one wrote about THIS glorious au, im writing for my entertainment, its honestly just teenage nonsense, pen pal au, phat au, shit tone of tropes y’all, sort of political plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 43,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetblacklilac/pseuds/jetblacklilac
Summary: The son of Rhaegar and Lyannna has been in the care of Daenerys, an infamous woman across the realm. Besides his dead parents, Aegon knows he has a family somewhere and it isn't his aunt. Somehow, the known cold of the North is far better than he would've assumed, far more preferable than what he has been taught all his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i was like "hey maybe i need a break from writing" then my brain was like "stfu and write this fic down" so basically i was on autopilot mode on this and i'll edit this when i can .... kudos and comments are welcomed !!

Like everything else that is considered a reason for one’s behaviour, it all boiled down to Aegon’s childhood. Broody as he was as a child, it worsened throughout adolescence and some say his frown is his version of smiling.  One of the first reasons for Aegon being as he is comes in a form of his aunt, unfortunately the only link to his father, a reckless man who died with by his actions.

 As far as he could remember, Aegon could almost recite the words the silver haired woman would recite to him each time he asks a tentative question of his parents; of an answer that could quell his constant hunger for a family much more loving than her _._ Perhaps his mother is kind and could’ve tucked him in bed or his father would play catch with him and not him just throwing a baseball against the wall. He had a hundred of images that sweeten his dreams.

But Aunt Daenerys would sneer at the mention of his mother, of _Lyanna_. Aegon had to learn her name by sneaking around her polished office, skimming through yellow coloured pictures in dust covered photo albums, all of them had his parents but cut out. Most likely, she omitted them herself. But on one folded edge of a family photo so long ago, there was a scribble, cursive and elegant. _Rhaegar and Lyanna; the runaway royals in love._

Later that night, at a tender age of eight, Aegon posed the inquiry in dinner.

Her startling violet eyes could’ve cut his skin at the intensity of her glare. “Aegon, you are my blood and that is why I permit you to live and dine with me. You’re the last of our family and I intend for you to inherit the company I so rightfully took back with fire and blood.” She likes to exaggerate, tweak a few things to her dramatic liking.   _That is our mantra, sweet boy; Fire and Blood._

She would whisper to him, a reminder of their supposed flawless and excellence. There used to be a large squared book with onion skin pages that greatly detailed the heirs, marriages, and names of the Targaryens before them. Back when kings and queens were worth dying for and a crown sits on the head of the person who has slain all their enemies.

Most of their reigns had been built upon incest, it is far too known as Aegon roamed the centuries back until their names were hard to pronounce. The madness is evident in the accounts of their behaviour and at times, he sees the past lunacy echo in the anger of his aunt. Whenever he gets mad, a flash of worry drowns the flames and he wonders if the ancestors live in _him_ this way, fanning the flames that are passed down through blood, through their own siblings as spouses.

 “So I _shall not_ tolerate such disrespect under my roof. Breathing life into dead peoples’ names are naught things to do, child. Your parents died because of their foolishness. Love some would call it. I’d say it was convenient so I can properly manage the company they don’t seem to care about. ” She stood up, her silver hair almost liquid by the wane evening light. She cupped his cheek and smiled a smile that had no warmth. “Don’t think of them anymore because you are mine, my blood flows through yours, you understand?”

Too frightened by the outrage he caused; he frantically nods. “Ye-yes, Aunt.” He whispered, fragile and anxiety floods in his nerves.

The next school year, she ships him off to a co-ed boarding school so far in the north he wouldn’t be surprised if there were penguins waddling outside his window.

The Principal of the school saw Aegon’s name and his jaw clenched so hard it almost snapped. “I cannot and will not on my good conscience admit a Targaryen into this institution.” He bit out, strong and stern.

Aegon couldn’t tolerate this because for the first time in his life, he has a connection with his mother, a woman who could’ve sang songs into his ears as he slept and kissed his forehead. He couldn’t understand why almost everyone in Westeros hated them. Aunt used to say they hated them for the gods have blessed their family more than ordinary men.

“Wh-what if I went as someone else? _Please_ , I’ll do anything.” Aegon squeaked in a high tone that intrigued the frowning man.

His aunt must’ve sensed the desperation for she sighed and her fingernails cut deeper in her leather clutch. “I shall pay extra if need be. Make sure only the three of us know of this.” She whispered in subtle annoyance, loathing how she must deign her nephew to this place, a place so befitting his deceased mother.

The broad shouldered man nodded. “Jon Snow will be your name, son. Remember it, wear it as an armour of protection.” He warned.

When his aunt left to stay in their hotel, she left a car service so Aegon can be brought to her after the school tour. The moment the heel clicks of his aunt’s shoes have recced, the principal staggered out of his seat to embrace Aegon with warmth he didn’t know the North has.

“Thank the gods. They lead you to us, Jon, your family.” He said into the boy’s shoulder and his sinewy arms held him tighter. “I often worry about your safety, son.” He said the last word in a manner he never heard before, wrapped in genuine veneration Aegon almost didn’t know it. He pulled back and ruffled the young boy’s hair. “You even look like us. I’m happy you don’t have the resemblance of the likes of your aunt.”

After that awkward hug, Mr. Stark explained everything, of how Lyanna was from his childhood, a lovely woman snatched up in the storms of her fantasy and she’s beguiled by a man with silver hair and tongue. They died together in a car crash that shouldn’t ever happen if only they were found earlier. But only he survived, the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

Jon sat back, dazed and shocked. He stared at the teary eyed man, and when he spoke, it was only a cry of mixed emotions. And for the first time in his life, Aegon knew warmth that didn’t scorch him, not in the way his Aunt almost resembles a dragon; their family’s ancient crest splayed about their mansion.

Life in Wintefell was hard but the people were harder to manage.

His board mates are crueller than the northern winds. Furs, coats, and jackets were nothing in the night, almost as though the breeze were invisible knives, cutting through each layer of fabric and sink deep into a boy’s bones. The scars he bore could not be seen by any eye, but rather the sharp teeth of apathetic and judgemental men have taken a bite of his heart. Each of them has ripped a portion until he felt as though the notion of a feeling heart is a whimsical fantasy.

But he endured the hell, he climbed high to the top of the intellectual ranks out of his grade. Though his teachers scorned him, have judged how well managed he is because of how he’s different yet his looks would he had friends to live through the torment.

Aegon even made friends along the years. When he returns to the sweltering heat of King’s Landing, he would happily chat to his only relative of the friends he made, of the fun they managed to have in those grey times.

_I think I belong there._ He wanted to say, wanted to explain how the icy winds were almost welcoming now and he joins Robb and Bran in praying to their heart tree. He even had their prayers memorized. Gone were the histories and thick prayers of the Seven, another connection to his aunt and father.

“Here.” Robb said, handing Aegon a thin branch, with red leaves on its sides, tiny enough to fit his backpack. “So you can pray to the gods when you’re in the South.”

“Don’t scratch your arse with that, Snow. The gods would be doing that for you.” Theon jested, retreating his seat as Aegon chased him around the classroom and Robb laughing at the scene.

Aegon recalls the day they all first met, like an amusing memory that makes him laugh at the most random of times.

“Robb, did you pack your entire bloody closet in your luggage? By the gods, they’re so _heavy_.”

“You should exercise more, Theon.”

That’s how Robb found him, as he dragged his suitcases in their room. Theon was beside him, panting as he held one of the larger suitcases. “Robb, didn’t know you had a statue of a gaping boy as your roommate. Damn and I got a Frey.”

Jon blinked, his face heating up as the other boys assessed him. They were wildly different outwardly. One had curls of lush brown, like curls of a tree's trunk but his eyes are as blue as ice, as the north. Meanwhile his friend was taller, leaner and had a shaggy shaggy cinnamon locks, and his face was sly, his mouth curled into a subtle grin. “Th-the snow, I never seen such a sight before.” He stammers out, shyness stuck in him even here in this foreign land.

“What’s a Southron boy doing in these parts?” Robb wondered.

_My mother used to study here. I begged my aunt to let me study here._ He shrugged.

“Ah, mysterious boy who loves snow.” The brunette wags his finger in the air with an outrageous imitation of how people talk in King’s Landing. “Would you tell us your name, though?”

“My name’s Jon Snow.” The name felt odd, thinking that its meant to be him. But somehow, it felt far better than the name his father insisted him on having. _Maybe Mr. Stark_ _knows the true wishes of my mother. She might’ve named me Jon._

 “Welcome aboard, Jon Snow.” Robb said, thrusting his hand out for a handshake.

Aegon obliged with a timid smile.

Days tumbled into months and Aegon felt settled here, far comfier than he did in the South, a distant memory he rarely remembers in the midst of hardship and friends. He has grown fond of his friends, companions that are far more valuable than all the gold his aunt could dream of.

At times, he toys with the idea of revealing himself to them, of being true to his truer friends. But, there has been bad blood between the two nations he has grown used to. Wars, deaths, betrayals and all sort of treachery that carves the deepest wounds, boiled blood in the most heated ways, that the rivalry, the hatred is so obvious and innate as breathing. Aegon resigns his plan to ever tell them because at least with them, he feels normal, he feels _loved._

At weekends when the students are given pass to visit their homes, Aegon and Theon join Robb and his siblings to their house.

“My home’s too far from here plus a dead beat dad to deal with. I’d sooner let Ol’ Nan adopt me than let Father nit-pick on me again.” Theon elaborated on his reluctance in going back home.

“Home is a philosophical notion, yes? It’s a feeling rather than some structure. That or maybe Mrs. Stark cooks better.” Jon teased, making the two boys laugh.

Robb patted him hard on the back. “Ah so the sullen boy jokes!” He said in delight and together.

There are many things that Aegon loved about the Starks’ mansion. One of them being so _warm,_ Winterfell is in a perpetual chill and it is the gods’ gift for Robb’s house to be founded on steams so the walls were enough to shake off the chill. He shared a room with Robb and Theon, while Bran and Rickon were roommates and his sisters reside in one room as well.

He is thick as thieves with almost all the Stark siblings (Bran mentioned how Theon is their eccentric adopted dog. The Greyjoy wore the compliment with pride.) All except for one; Sansa Stark, the eldest daughter of their principal. He has heard countless of bawdy japes from Theon about Sansa being the Queen in the North and had to stop Robb from punching the joking boy too many times but he won’t verbalize his agreement on it. Because it is true, how founded it is for Sansa to be _ethereal._ He even had to look up _that_ word so he can describe her beauty.

There is an innate elegance in the way she walks down the hall, chin in the air, had her posture perfect. Everything about her feels like perfection, as though the day she was created, the gods were far too generous and gave everything in seamless ratios. And it isn’t only because she’s so lovely to look upon but almost because of how she _is._

Being a daughter of the school’s principal, she has to uphold her father’s integrity and honour. So, she joins debate clubs, student council, exceeds in the subjects of her year. She does this all with a humble air and modesty that could make the Mother jealous.

Aegon first labelled it as admiration. But the smiling kraken snorted so hard Bran stared at them with his large hickory eyes. He could’ve known what they were conversing about but he didn’t give a clue even with Jon’s beet red face and Theon’s smug smirk. When the younger boy slid back into conversation with Arya, the brunette leaned into him.

“Snow, you ain’t fooling me. I know you like her.”

“Correction, dumbass, I _admire_ her. She’s so pretty and flawless and-“

“-Wow, why don’t you just go marry her then and have perfect babies with her?” Theon taunted with his signature smile. It stretched to his ears when Jon’s face reddened and he looked away, pretending to enjoy the delectable thick soup they’re eating. “Oh, _my_ Jonny’s in love!”

Aegon stomped down on Theon’s foot before Robb, the protective brother of the target of his amazement, could hear them. He is quite aware that when Robb would hear this, he’d no doubt leap from his seat and pommel his friend to a bloody pulp. The Starks value family over everything else it appears and Aegon didn’t want to test it with this fanciful feelings.

Later at night, when the boys are snoring soundly on their beds, Aegon moves to the window so the silvery light of the moon washes over the pages of his journal. A book that collects his thoughts, none of which he voiced out to even his dearest friends.

_Dear Journal,_

_Theon took the words right out of my tongue. To say in the least, Sansa Stark is the loveliest person to ever grace the Earth. And yes, I say this without even saying a word to her despite how I spend the weekends at their place for years now. She has such an obedient nature, eager to please her parents, especially her mother; a person who doesn’t necessarily like me or Theon staying at their place. But for the sake of her son, she endures us and not to taint her character but I’m pretty sure she warns Sansa to stay away from us but more importantly me._

_Because one time when Arya and I were having a snow ball fight, the tiny little thing screeching her victory, I happen to look up and saw Sansa standing at the second floor balcony. She was staring at us, her face conveys wonder and there was a blush to her cheeks. Her eyes are so blue, like the water underneath the ice and I’d gladly down in them. But Mrs Stark emerged from nowhere, a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and led her away._

_Maybe because she knows who I am, a dragon in their wolf’s den and she resents me for it. But if Sansa does deign herself to speak to me, what will I even say to her? My tongue would tie itself in a nervous wreck. Sometimes I see her in the hallway, always with her friends, laughing and my heart would stop functioning. I’d almost wave at her because she always smiles at Robb but never me. I’m not the envious type but I would do anything for Sansa Stark to smile at me._

_I’d give her any star she likes and I’d catch comets for her smile._

Aegon nearly threw the notebook when he heard Theon snort, as though the brunette was looming behind him and read the naïve and enamoured feelings stirring in his chest. When his eyelids began to feel weighted, he hid this notebook far in his suitcase so they won’t find it. And he slept soundly.

And so the game went on, when he studies at Winterfell, he goes by the false name (but somehow it feels _right_ , he would ponder over, late at night and even Robb’s snores couldn’t distract him from his thoughts). But when he’s with his aunt, she calls him Aegon and at times he doesn’t respond at _that_ name, a namesake from some older relative of his, of whom he doesn’t recall and doesn’t bother to.

“Robb, Theon and I built a snowman the other day. We made it way taller than planned and it fell on Theon. He was half-buried in it!” Aegon exclaimed in amusement, laughing as he ate a spoonful of braised lamb. “Don’t worry, aunt, we got him off and made hot coco so we won’t freeze to death.” He says, sipping the water from his golden cup.

The blonde hums a polite tone, her eyes scanning thick documents and her legs primly crossed. It doesn’t matter to her if they were dining or in the living room, she always carried around paperwork. “Yes, that _is_ wonderful you have friends. But they’re Starks, Greyjoys and other names that hold no sway in our realm.” She settled her fountain pen on its stand and cracked her knuckles. “I’ve entertain the wish of your dead mother quite enough. You shall attend the best school here in King’s Landing, not some silly igloo with _northerners._ ” She laughs a little at her jape.

_Her smile and laugh sound so cruel._ He fleetingly thought. Picking at the peas, he doesn’t say anything, does not dare to stroke the fire always simmer at her belly. Later that night, he opened his journal and wrote down his frustrations, until he felt his fingers numb from the effort.

_Dear Journal,_

_I don’t wish ill on my aunt, a woman so beautiful she has suitors from different regions of Westeros, even farther from here. But how can she dismiss my love of the North so quickly, so without thought? I love their icy lands, how I have lost count in having snow ball fights with my friends, using a sled to glide down hills and our laughter curls into misty airs. I’m much form the North as any of my friends, there’s ice in my veins and it doesn’t melt in the heat of King’s Landing, even of my fierce aunt. Nothing can thaw the winter in me._

_I’m almost seventeen now, surely that makes me a man? Mr. Stark tells me stories of mother, of how strong and beautiful she is in equal measure. And though I won't have the chance in meeting her in this lifetime, I love her so much, miss her too much to write it down. Funny how I go back and forth in these opposing nations yet, I feel like I don’t belong in either of them. There’s always been this strange barrier between me and the Targaryen claim my aunt so proudly crowns herself with and scorns me a little because I share her throne. And though I love Winterfell, most of its citizens have treated me coolly and whispers taunts behind me._

_I’m lost. But I fear I’ll be worse off without the Starks, a loving family and I can almost fit in with them. And Sansa, oh gods how I will miss looking for her in the crowded cafeteria, to feel the want to talk to her almost overload my senses that I’ll almost do that impulsive thing. I’ll miss her, perhaps more than I’ll miss her brother._

The next day, his aunt announces he is to transfer in some posh school somewhere in the capital. He sits rigid, hands clenched on the arms of his chair. “I don’t want to study here. I want to go back-“ He bites his tongue as _home_ nearly slides down his tongue. No, he wouldn’t dare anger her now.

“Darling child, you should be educated in the ways of life of where you truly belong. Your place is here with me, with where your father would’ve wanted you to be.” Daenerys responded in ease, her pen tracing the words down the document.

_My father got them both killed. He was stupid and she was in love, a deadly pair._

His aunt glanced him in the corner of her eye. She dropped her pen and closed the leather book. “I used to be like you, you know. I grew up in places so far away, the people and languages were eccentric but I didn’t let the strangeness get to me.” She stood up and she sat down on the empty plush chair next to him. She gathered his large hands with her small ones. “This is your home, okay? Your journey in Winterfell is an indulgence that I allowed because you would’ve rebelled against me. Every road you’ll take will lead you here, to me and to this kingdom of ours. We are family, sweet nephew and you best remember this." 

There was a tear somewhere in his chest at the reminder of harsh reality. All his life, despite how enjoyable Winterfell is, his aunt doesn’t fail to remind him of his duty to her, to their family name. He _has_ to stay here with her.

_The Starks only take you in because you’re a charity case to them. They’re doing what is expected of a known family in their town._ A hard voice, almost resembled the woman beside him, barrelled into his mind. Fear gripped his throat, taking all his potential responses out of him and he nodded in defeat.

“How about this, you and I will go to Dragonstone this summer? I think we both need a break from work and school.” His aunt suggested, combing her small hand through his mess of inky curls.

_No, gods no, I’ll be stuck with you for the entire summer._

But Aegon found himself agreeing to her proposal.

She smiles and her face softens with her action. “But first, you shall send a letter to Robb Stark, saying that you’re transferring in the next semester. Make a duplicate for the headmaster.” She requests, but it wasn’t one that he could outwardly deny.

Aegon caught the threats between the spaces of her words. _I have come so far in life, my nephew, I won’t let you hinder the power of our dynasty that I, myself have continued. Fire and Blood._

 Right after dinner, he dragged himself to his bedroom. He sat himself in front of his old study desk, polished wood and made from oak. He laid a stack of blank papers in front of him, his pen in hand but no words formulated in his mind. He tried to string together a formal yet feeling type of letter but how?

“I-I don’t want to be away from you all.” Aegon mourned, angst dipping his tongue down and he can’t seem to talk anymore. Rolling the black pen among his fingers, his mind remains vacant of excuses, of writing down reasons for their eventual separation.

Robb flash in his mind, his sky blue eyes would be the hushed topic of girls in restrooms. Bran ever so curious, insightful, and so full of life its contagious. Arya is a spirited girl, with more energy than she knows what to do with. Unexpectedly, he warms up to their headmaster, Mr Stark with his blood merged so thoroughly with honour. He taught Aegon on how to be a man, how everyone has a code of duty and must uphold it for it is sacred and unholy to betray these unspoken vows.

 And Sansa, _Sansa_ the girl that Aegon would almost do anything for just so they can exchange a few words, rather than him staring at her. His heart may be young but there's a stubborn belief deep in his bones that if he gathers his scattered courage and ask her out, they could be something truly. But  _what_ , he can't (or won't ever) find answers to. 

In the end, Aegon slept on his study desk, the papers remained empty but his eyes filled with tears and it pooled and ruined his would be letters. His sleep was shapeless for the people in them were strangers, claiming him for his name, for he has the blood of past kings, for how he is both South and North. Yet all he wants is home, a family, and love.

A creak of his bedroom door didn’t rouse the adolescent. A lithe form of a woman entered his room. She bent over and inspected the stained papers with a small smile. “Just as I suspected.” She mumbled, carding her hand through his curls and pressed a kiss on the back of his head. She throws the tear stained papers into a trash bin and puts a pillow under his arm so at least his forehead won’t have a painful red spot.

The next morning as her nephew sleeps, Daenerys writes the letter, informing Mr Stark of Aegon’s transfer, of requesting his needed requirements and documentation so the transition will be smooth.

She breaks the Stark family’s heart in pieces before lunch.

 


	2. I Can't Find the Grave of Our Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has always been a creature of compliance. But what if there's a scenario that renders her mind blank of proper responses?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im ignoring the fact that this story flopped. i love this idea so i'll most probably continue and edit this

“I bet it’s all _her_ doing!”

Sansa paused midway on the cloth covered stairs in mild confusion. She’s never heard Father sound so furious about anything. Given, he’s the head master of their school but this doesn’t simply he blows a vein each time he reprimands his students. He rules with a firm grip, adequately feared but generously adored.

“Whoever you’re talking about Father, I agree!” This is Arya no doubt, Judging by the shrill of her voice and the trademark frustration her little sister usually speaks in when she's irritated.

“Arya, don’t spur your father like that. And if it’s his aunt’s decision, we must respect it.”

“How can we respect some decision when we don’t even know _why_?” Her older brother, Robb rebutted in a level of fury that matched their dad. There were more protests from his younger brothers to a topic she isn’t even aware of.

She enters the dining room and instantly feels the heavy tension looming in the air. Mostly of how Arya and Robb are glowering at their cereal as though they’ll will their breakfast to erupt in flames. Rickon and Bran are frowning, but eating their pancakes in tiny portions. Her parents sat at the head of the mahogany oval table with Father clutching pages of letter.

It’s a saddening scene to see mere hours before school. She knows her and her siblings’ bags are neatly packed in the SUV but it’s as though none wanted to move away from the room.

 “Good morning, everyone.” She slowly greeted, sitting next to Robb and mumbling a thanks when Mother slid a chilled bowl of cereal towards her. “What’s happened?” She asked to no one in particular.

“Not that it matters to your perfect little world but Jon isn’t returning next semester. Apparently, he’s going to some, excuse my language Mother, crappy polished school in the capital!” Arya all but exploded in her frustration then went back to slumping in her chair.

Mother went behind the grumpy brunette’s chair and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “He belongs there, love. I’m sure you’ll have other friends in school.” She cooed then went back to her sulking husband, rubbing his hand while he still looked troubled.

Robb nodded but he looked so devastated and distracted with his thoughts. “I’ll miss Jon. He was like a brother to me. I-I wish he could’ve told us. All we got is a lousy letter his aunt wrote. He couldn’t even write it himself!” He huffed, pushing away the silver bowl and stomped to his room, all the while picking at the hem of his spruce knitted jumper.

There would always be a polite response hanging at the back of her mind, as etiquette demands. But now, everything is lulled to near silence and she could merely stare at the bowl of cereal, finding it difficult to process this bombshell of news. The thing is, she doesn’t know _how_ to react. Should she act like nothing had happened? Should she blink away the tears blurring her eyes? She isn’t sure what’s the appropriate in this scenario. A hollow feeling moved in her chest, a gentle crash of a wave against the shore. If she was really close with Jon, then her dismayed reaction would’ve been accepted but this? Staring at the kitchen table with a contemplative expression? She wanted to mourn for her non-existent memories but also try to go through the day without this profound sense of confusion.

Her siblings has always been close with Robb’s other best friend. Theon is an entirely different matter to discuss but Jon; there was something about him that made the Starks putty at his feet. She has heard several rumours about him, not from her family but from the hushed stories from Jeyne. That Jon is her father’s other son from an unknown woman and this is the reason why he has the privilege of being friends with such a prominent family in such a short time. If this is confirmed then Sansa wouldn’t be surprised.

Jon had the _look_ of her family. _Such a handsome fit he is!_ A wormy voice giggled in mischief. He had unruly inky curls, always so messy that she suspected this is also why Arya rarely brushes her rat’s nest of a hair. Her little sister only does it under the vigilance of their mother. No boy she has known possessed the pouty pink lips he has, or how he managed to make brooding so attractive and intriguing.

She wouldn’t _dare_ voice this out though for fear of her family’s reaction, of how she’s quite certain Jon only ever interacts with her because she lives with his friends. Once, Arya exclaimed how Jon is family no matter where he came from. When he smiled so brightly, Sansa felt her heart almost burst from joy and what an enchanting memory it is to see him smile. To see Jon happy, one has to find him with her siblings.

_Now he’s gone._

“I would go to King’s Landing and break down the door of his bloody house if only he’d tell me where that idiot leaves!” Arya grunts, finally eating her no doubt soggy cereal and colder milk. “Why would he go all the way South for education? Isn’t our school the best in the North, Father?”

He smiles a smile that told Sansa a secret is hidden behind his teeth. “It is, sweet one but I supposed his _aunt_ wants what best for him. We leave in fifteen minutes. No one should be late because you all have the rest of the day to pack your things in your dorms.” He gently decrees then leaves the kitchen, stiff as a tree; his hand crumpled the paper in his hand.

“Mother, may Arya get some lemon cakes? She’s quite distraught about Jon’s departure.” Sansa chimed up at the older redhead, skimming through the morning newspaper.

Her little sister scowled. “I don’t want lemon cakes, San. I want that-that coward to tell me why he abandoned his friends then kick him in the guts!” She protested, jumping out of her chair and stomping to their joint bedroom, the squeaks of her sneakers tap on the hardwood.

“Let them be, sweetling. They’ll come to their senses.” Catelyn reasoned with her and smiled.

Mother’s tone implied something she couldn’t quite catch. Like a fleeting secret she could feel in the spaces of her sentence. _Does she know something about Jon?_ Granted, Mother is the reason why she stayed away from Robb’s friends. At such a young age of nine, it has been drilled in her mind that her brother’s friends are also her friends.

_It’s improper._

_You should always be polite to them but never with familiarity that can inspire unnecessary things._

Sansa hasn’t disobeyed her mother’s lessons because what should she do _other_ than being the pristine and perfect daughter? She’s known to be quite obedient, follows instructions down to the letter so it wouldn’t be a surprise she took this one to the heart.

But now, she wonders if perhaps a friendship would Jon would be all that bad.

“Sansa dear, please check on your sister and make sure she’s not doing anything rash.” Catelyn requested.

Though Arya needn’t to be coddle at, Sansa did, from time to time, glance at her direction, almost expecting a volatile outburst and kick the car door or something. Meanwhile, Robb has been silent, brooding even as though it’s fallen upon him to replace Jon in that role.

A twitch is felt at the corner of her lips, as though she intended to smile in recalling Jon’s infamous frowns. Always too constant and she would’ve been ashamed of how she has this image burned at the back of her eyelids but she won’t. How can she when she doesn’t even know how she should feel about Jon? She can’t approach Mother because then, she’d get the sharp Tully look her children would get when they did something wrong.

_So it’s wrong for me to care about Jon but Arya, Bran, and Robb get to be gloomy? Why am I in the wrong?_

She left her siblings, each disappearing to the respective dormitories and since they all differ in year, they don’t reside in the same building. She spends the day arranging her things and welcoming her usual roommate, Jeyne Poole. They spend the last day of summer exchanging stories with her best friend, laughing about the antics, and discussing the schedules that they have.

“Jon left, he won't return for any other semester. He transferred to King's Landing with his aunt.” Sansa wished she could’ve reeled those words back into her mouth. Her gaze drops on her cotton pyjamas.

Jeyne’s thin brow arched. “Has he? That’s a travesty. We’ve lost a dashing boy in our list. Who to replace him with, Theon? No, this will take more investigation and consideration, don’t you think?” She hummed.

Being a pair of fanciful, head full of knights and silk gowns, they secretly wrote down boys that could fit their idea of a knight, of a boy they could settle down with and feel so loved. It wasn’t Sansa who suggested Jon because why would she? He doesn’t exactly have flowing locks of sunshine, a smile that could make Jeyne squeal in delight, or even an amiable personality. Sansa isn’t even sure if she’s ever seen Jon talk to a girl who isn’t Arya.

No, her best friend is the one who suggested her brother’s best friend purely because of his “objective hotness” and she didn’t argue more.

“Maybe there’ll be new students in our class.” Sansa replied.

_No one can replace Jon._

Sansa is startled with this surprising thought, a voice that sounds like herself when she’s crushing over a boy, that she nearly gasps.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Their first subject is thankfully homeroom so she knows there isn’t much to do. She sits next to Jeyne as the students fill the classroom, all dressed in the dull grey uniforms of the school. Her fingers dance across the thick history book, wishing for time to go by faster.

“My, I think he climbed at the top of our list. Hello, new contender.” Jeyne’s giggle commented,

Tilting her chin up, she sees a tall and striking blond with azure eyes and a face that was near angelic. The wool blazer he wore wrapped around his biceps quite nicely. He has an athletic built and his pink mouth has a ghost of a smirk. His gait told them of his confidence.

Sansa could already picture him in a knight’s armour, a sword strapped to his hip while he’s in a life threatening quest to save his realm. She inwardly sighed at that sweet notion.

“Settle down, everyone. Good morning.” Miss Mordane says in a strident tone, garnering everyone’s attention. Her students greet her back. “Yes well, although this is homeroom, an activity has just been approved from the board. They call the program, ‘A Letter for a Friend’. Basically it’s having a pen pal from an adjoining school at King’s Landing.”

The class erupts in excitement, all of them leaning towards their friends with grins and smirks and their feet tapping against the floor in the manner their teacher detests. It took a few minutes before they settled down. She stared them down with a pinched frown and carried on. “What we’ll be doing is getting familiar with the culture of the South and for them to do this as well. First, we should discuss on the necessary guidelines and policies on what you should write to your pen pal.”

A hand shot in the air. “Shouldn’t we know who we write to, Miss?” Beth questioned and most of her classmates nodded in agreement.

Miss Mordane narrowed her eyes. “ _After_ my discussion.” She negotiates. She then proceeded to write on the chalkboard, the chalk scraping against its surface and her monotonous voice could lull the teenagers in the room without any effort.

Sansa and Jeyne remained attentive. They jot down notes on their notebooks, listening carefully to the explanations. It’s a blessing in disguise, hearing their rigid teacher drone on for forty five minutes on the rules and regulations. Because then, _then_ , she wouldn’t feel even more confused about Jon’s absence and how she wants to miss him but doesn’t have any reason to.

 _Emotions don’t stand with reasons all the time. People sometimes love even if it goes against everything they stand for. The heart is a blind thing._ She once heard Father lecture to them in a dinner long ago. _But it’s important to act on what’s right. Do the honourable thing in any given situation._

“Beth Cassel.”

Sansa’s inner monologue broke as she heard Beth’s Mary Jane click against the floor. She sees their teacher hand Beth a slip of paper. The list of Sansa’s classmates went on, each of them a tiny strip of paper then they are to return to their seats.

"Harrold Hardyng."

"Please, Miss Mordane, call me Harry." A smooth voice eased from the back of the classroom.

Most of the students turned their backs to get a load of the new comer. But Sansa didn't, her hands splayed on the flat surface of their table and kept her face blank but her mind is still in debate of her odd placement of grief, unable to place a name on it.  _Regret,_ oh she would learn the definition of this word far harshly later on. 

The new student swaggers until he stands before the class, a smirk on his face. "Thank you." He says in a manner that no person should ever trust. 

"You're from the Vale, right? Transferred here for your junior year." The homeroom teacher pointed out. 

Harry bobs his head lazily. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sure I'll enjoy the, uh,  _hospitality_ the North is known for." He states, facing his classmates, his cheeks denting and he's such a sight Sansa is momentarily distracted by him. His dazzling eyes landed on her, obvious and almost predatory. Without even acknowledging the class or the prudent teacher behind him, his eyes rove on her form with appreciation and he briefly  _bites_ his lip.

"Take a seat Mister Hardyng." Miss Mordane chastises and waves her withered hand in the air.

He nods, eyes not straying off Sansa before going to the back of the classroom.

"Now there's a man who'll get what he wants." The brunette mumbles with a saucy wink. She then stood up when her name was called.

 _How would one know Jon wants someone? He scowls and scowls and I would've wanted to see him smile when he's in love._ She shakily exhaled because clearly, her jumbled emotions are messing with her head, the thoughts are eccentric and their origin unknown. But perhaps these are latent thoughts, repressed by the need to obey Mother and ignore what she could've been allowed to yearn, to wonder. 

Jeyne got hers with inked loops of a name that is to be her friend for one year. “Oh, Margaery Tyrell, how interesting.” She states with initial joy.

“Sansa Stark.”

And so, she goes to retrieve her strip of paper. She could’ve sworn Miss Mordane eyed her with pity. She sits back, aware of Jeyne looming over her shoulder like a vulture.

“Go on, open it Sans. Who’d you get?” Jeyne pressed, her eyes wide and they’re both naïve about what’s to come as the redhead slowly unfolds the paper.

Sansa stares at those two names like it was synonymous with the world’s end. She didn’t react when Jeyne loudly gasp. She could only stare in _disbelief_ and mostly fear. The stories and quite founded history of her pen pal grew louder in her mind. She did perfect her exam on this very topic last year. And now, in cruel irony, she's to be friends with someone who has such a violent and twisted family? Surely, this has got to be some nightmare? Who in the right mind would permit such a thing and in school no less!

“Miss Mordane, this has _got_ to be a mistake!” Her seat mate shrieked in disgust, her nose scrunching and her hand fisted on the plaid skirt she’s wearing. "Maybe you got the wrong mix for Sansa. This can't be right."

“The names have been meticulously chosen for this class, Miss Poole. There is no mistake.” The older woman answered in a calm manner. She then began to write more on the chalkboard, the necessary things to bring next week because they will begin writing the letters.

She hasn’t found the words to speak yet, merely looking up to see the customary blank face of their teacher.

“But why would the you or this board you speak of let Sansa be the pen pal of Aegon _bloody_ Targaryen?” Jeyne demands.

Then, the class reacts in mixed emotions.

 


	3. Romeo in the Sheets (Of Paper)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing a letter to the girl of his dreams is a lot harder than he anticipated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this fic is so stupidly long but that's just how i write and its v hard for me to edit thing out. I appreciate the patience you guys have to endure my dumb fics!! anyways, comments and kudos are appreciated

The guidance office doesn’t intimidate Aegon, no one really because of Mr. Seaworth. The elderly man with grey hair, a smile so kind and eyes are perpetually gentle. But the reason why he’s here, feet swinging, head bent down, and his right hand fidgeting with the left sleeve of his maroon blazer; well let’s just say it’s a miracle Aegon stuttered out his purpose. As often as he can, without violating the dress code, he strips himself of this blasted blazer; to try and not remind him of how he’s in this school his dear aunt dropped him at.

His efforts are futile though. The sweltering heat is constantly taunting him of the absence of cold, of how snow isn’t spread around the campus or streets, of how he isn’t with the Starks for his final year in high school before he goes to college. Gods know his aunt had fun piling up one extracurricular activity with the other just so his records would look flawless. He should be grateful, he is but if only his days are mercilessly occupied somewhere way up in the North.

“Aegon, what is it you’re complaining about?” Mr Seaworth presses with strength of a feather. He wears a cedar shaded vest on top of a pristine crisp shirt. His steeple fingers cradle his chin.

Aegon tugs at the collar, feeling it tighten on his throat making it hard to breathe. _She made me feel breathless on every occasion I saw her._ “Not complain per se, sir just, ah confusion really.” He easily averts from the assumption.

The guidance counselor’s eyebrows furrow. “About your pen pal, I take it?” He echoed the bewildering statement the senior stuttered over since he sat down across from Mr. Seaworth.

“Yes, I can’t continue on with this program. I’d want to spend my free period doing something more productive like arts or something you would suggest for me.” He specified, clarified, ignoring how his heart thuds faster. Like the naïve organ is protesting on what his mind is setting its imaginary foot on.

 _It’s the right thing to do._ He told himself.

_But you miss her._

The gods are cruel, not of the Seven everyone in the city follow but the ones he still prays to the wilting branch in his dorm. These apathetic spirits have no damn about his tormenting soul, about how he _so_ desperately wants to continue in this charade, this excuse to get an ounce of interaction with his beloved.

 _Emotions don’t stand with reasons all the time. People sometimes love even if it goes against everything they stand for. The heart is a blind thing._ He once heard Uncle Ned lecture to them in a dinner long ago.  _But it’s important to act on what’s right. Do the honourable thing in any given situation._

And so, here he is, as honourable as the stern principal would’ve wanted him to. So why is his chest a gaping hole, far worse than the abyss in his young exaggerated mind? Why do his feet tap on the floor in nervous rhythms as though he unknowingly aches to escape and go lock himself in his room and write the letter already?

Mr Seaworth shifted on his cushioned seat. “Well, why don’t you like this program?” He leaned forward, concerned as ever. “Is it because you have no friends? I assure you, this is usually how most introverts thrive in. Not having to deal with the complexities of body language and awkward silence, having a pen pal is the next best thing for you.”

Aegon held the urge to roll his eyes. The first few days here in school and his classmates thought he was mute from how he doesn’t speak, merely sit in the corner of the room, diligently jot down notes and ace every exam given to them. He nearly laughed when they were all stupefied at him answering Sir Stannis’ question about Westorosi History.

“Sam is my firend, sir. And it’s not because I don’t like the program, its…” He trailed off, not having the strength to lie to the only kind man in the entire country. “I…” She can’t be the one I have to write.

“Your partner is a Stark right? Well no wonder you were sent here. I’m sorry to tell you this but there are some people who are closely watching this program.” He explains in a low tone as the other employs won’t snoop on them. One of the reasons why Aegon hasn’t done anything too drastically worrying is because he didn’t want to trouble the kind old man before him. “The pairing isn’t random, Aegon. People want to see how this goes because if not, well, riots and political intrigues are for sure to happen.”

His scowl deepens. “Why inflict politics to children, Mr Seaworth? I’d like to be excluded from this narrative.” He protested but somehow it doesn’t seem all that bad. He just doesn’t want to be involved in this program, to finally converse with the girl he’s almost sure he loves just because of their ancestor’s history.

It’s all in the past. Why must they drag it back into the present and the pain echoes from when it did centuries ago?

“If you strive to be a brilliant politician like your aunt, you have to practice networking. This is a great exercise for you, Mr Targaryen.” The guidance counsellor says and pats his shoulder; a rather polite manner of imploring the student to leave his office.

He stays seated for a moment or two, hesitating to leave because that would mean he has to return to his room. “Thank you, sir.” He murmurs.

_/\/\/\/\/\/\_

His dorm is settled in the middle of the other dorms of boys he doesn’t care about. Upon entering the dorm, one can easily say his aunt held sway to the selection of it. It was more spacious than the other rooms, two medium sized beds pushed against the walls and they had their own bathrooms instead of participating in a communal bathroom with the rest of their peers.

 He hangs the blaringly red blazer by the coat hanger, folding the sleeves of his polo to his elbows. Walking to his desk, he searches for his leather bound journal, an old thing that was once his father's but it was empty so he took it upon himself to fill it up with his emotions. Seeing as how he's quite reluctant on sharing his dreamy fantasies with his aunt and he practically has no one to talk to when he was younger. After all, he couldn't outright elaborate the conflicting feelings he has of being a Southron and a Notherner without facing the consequences of the truth.

He frowns, at not being able to find it, to pour his conflicted emotions on pages upon pages of the damn thing. He had to have  _some_ emotional vent somehow and his journal isn't found anywhere. Not even in his empty trunk, he even flipped, shook, and examined each compartment of it. Before he pondered more on this, his roommate pulled him out of his worry.

“Oh hello, Aegon!” His roommate greeted him, peeking from the piles of thick books on his study desk. Samwell Tarly is a senior like him. He has shaggy chocolate locks, round cheeks, kind brown eyes, and always carried a book of some sort. Now, he pushed them back and gave him a reassuring smile. “Let me guess, by the frown on your face, you won the lottery?” He jested, his double chin moving as he laughed.

Aegon laid down o his bed, groaning and hand son his stomach. “If you must know, I was merely told this is how introverts make friends. So apparently it has reached his ears how I haven’t made a hundred friends in the first week of school.” He bent forward, untying the thin black laces of his leather shoes, all the while he’s muttering his complains to a friend he knows is listening to him. “Oh you know what else he said?”

“It’s flattering to know that you assume I’ve somehow have a listening bug on you. But carry on.” Sam answered politely, snorting as he placed a pencil in the middle of his textbook. He then twisted in his chair and crossed his arms on his chest, grandly gesturing for his roommate to continue.

“Mr Seaworth told me I should go on with his because everyone expects me to be like my aunt.” He sneered with vicious intent so commonly associated with dragons; his aunt’s favoured family crest. “Apparently, this pen pal bollocks is somehow political and I have to do my duty for my family.” He explodes, kicking his shoes and his socks of ash grey and navy felt cols against the smooth hardwood floor.

“Then, I’ll help you constructing a letter. Gods know how awful you are at appearing to be polite and friendly all at once.”

“That’s not it.”

Sam tilted his head to one side. “Is it because she’s a Stark? I’ve heard they’re stubborn, cold, and oh wait am I just describing you now?” His mouth formed a small smile. “I kid but honestly, please tell me what’s been bothering you.”

The gentle was as soft as he was. And yet he hesitates, fearing Sam would be ashamed of him, the impending deception and the lies that would pile up in his sins if he ventures on. “It’s a long story.”

The Tarly laughs. “History is just one long and boring story, Aegon! Give me some exciting and potentially juicy bits of it.”

He ran his hand through his messy curls, wincing at the length it has been, knowing if Aunt saw him like this she’d be mortified. So he told him everything, the wonderful years he spent with the Starks, how his childhood is in the winter but his cheeks ache from smiling and laughing too much. When he mentioned Sansa, as brief as he could, without having to expose his adoration for her, Sam smirked but said nothing.

When he was done, he rubbed his palms down his thighs, waiting for Sam as he formulates his response.

“I’ll absolutely volunteer in helping you write your letter. Because I have to make sure you don’t accidentally make this into a love letter, confessing your undying love for her.” Sam says in nonchalance.

Aegon blinked at him. Then, his face flushed a dark pink and a simper curled his mouth “Uh, thank you Sam but aren’t I just lying to Sansa? Isn’t this wrong? How about we switch names? Who’d you get?”

Sam shrugged. “Some girl named Gilly. Anyways no, I don’t think so. Aegon, you’re doing so much for your aunt, trying to get her approval and putting yourself in so much activities and school work. I know even know you’re stressed about college when our exams haven’t even arrived.” He took in a breath and sat down next to the dark haired boy. “Don’t you think you should give yourself some happiness? Being reconnected to her, and to an extent to the Starks, it sounds like a fine plan of self-care to me.”

“Mr Targaryen?” A guard asked.

He stood up. “Yes?”

“Your aunt is on the phone. Please go down to the common room hall.” Then, the guard leaves him to tie his shoes once more.

“After dinner,  I will supervise you so you won’t go all Florian the Fool on your letter,” Sam shouts, laughing when Aegon merely glowered at him.

He walks down the stairs, fully aware of how the other posh boys are eying him, jokes and taunts churning in their heads but they said nothing. He knows he must look like a wreck right now; his ebony locks almost touching his shoulders, the sleeves of his polo are folded to his elbows, his face unintentionally falls back into his customary frown.

He arrives at the telephone booth. “Hello, aunt.” He greets, leaning against the wall.

 _Aegon! Oh, how was your day?_ _She has been adamant on calling him every day despite the fact that he’s nearly eighteen._

“I’m doing great. We’re about to have dinner down at the halls. How was your day?” He answers, respectfully so, twirling the onyx wires and holding back the sigh of boredom. He lets her prattle on things of her work. _Soon to be your responsibility_ , a mocking voice reminded him and this made Aegon stand more rigid, grip the telephone tighter. If he mentions what has transpired in homeroom, he isn’t sure how she will react, whether she’ll be furious or so deep in her anger she’d transfer him to another school.

_Shifting me around in well-known schools won’t make people forget._

_How are your subjects?_

_Others can take my grades._

He fixes himself, even without her startling violet eyes on him, he could feel her expectant gaze upon him. “They’re a bit hard and challenging but nothing I can’t handle. I have a ton of homework even in the first week of school.” He answers in a manner that she wants, talk about what she wants to hear and that sometimes doesn’t mean be honest with her. _I’m about to write a love letter to my childhood crush._

She laughs airily. _Ah that’s the usual hard tone in boarding schools. Don’t you worry, I’m so sure you’ll have exceptional grades! I don’t want to disturb you for far too long, off you go with your friends! Love you, my nephew._

 _“_ Love you too, bye and good night.” He puts the telephone in its rightful place and releases the sigh he’s been holding in.

After dinner, he sits with Sam in their quiet dorm as he prepares to write the required letter to be passed in a few days. He ignores the advanced reading he’s supposed to do with chemistry, physics, and even history (though Sam promises if he doesn’t screw up his letter to Sansa, he’ll lend Aegon his comprehensive reviewer).

It felt like years in constructing his letter. He tries to level his writing ability to how he feels for her but Sam whacked his head a few times whenever he slips up.

“She doesn’t know you’re Jon, dummy. You’re Aegon. Now be formal and friendly.” Sam warns, as he munches on the chips he miraculously smuggled into their room.

Aegon scowls, taping his pen against the oak of his study desk. He buries his hand into the junk food of his roommate and together, they managed to finish it before he wrote even a paragraph of his letter.

At the end, it was near midnight, wrappers of their forbidden snacks are artfully hidden away so they won’t be in trouble, and Aegon held the paper in pride.

_Dear Sansa Stark,_

_Hello, my name is Aegon Targaryen as you may be well aware of because my name might have been written on the paper given to you as how I discovered your name. I’m seventeen years old. I’m in my senior year and my favourite subject is P.E. What’s your favourite subject? In my spare time (I mean if I have any at this point) I like to draw and read historical books that aren’t textbooks._

_Everyone probably knows my only living relative so I won’t have to mention her right now. She owns a family company and now is a state senator.  Though I suspect she wants to be the president of the entire Westeros someday. What do your parents do?_

_Hope to hear from you soon. I mean, not hear because we’re pen pals but I hope I’ll receive your response shortly._

_Until Next Time_

_Aegon Targaryen_

_"_ Well, how is it?” Aegon impatiently demanded after Sam no doubt has read it about four times since he finished it.

Sam snorts. “I think you’ll be able to maintain long distance relationship if you keep being this charming. I mean I think I’m swept off my feet!” He swoons and puts the back of his hand on his forehead, fluttering his lashes.

He blushes deeply at that. _Gods, I hope so_. But he doesn’t need to say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pay attention to what i added, it's a hint!!!


	4. You're in Everything I Think Of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic will be so long, i genuinely apologize for my dumb fic. i literally just finished it so i'll edit this heavily when i can. kudos and comments are welcomed!!!

It takes two weeks for their letters to reach the capital and for them to receive in kind. The first time Sansa is given the rectangular letter, she can tell how her class is intrigued as to what a Targaryen has to say to a Stark. Everyone knows the history, the wars founded upon lust and blind greed, her ancestors’ bones drowned in ashes and blood and steel.

She readies herself, assuming it would be stiff and formal, but adequately friendly. She pictures a tall and slight boy of silver locks, with starling violet eyes, writing with his fountain pen. His features regal, his posture echoes the royalty of his past and his clothes match all the same.

A laugh wasn’t in the list of reactions she’d have. Apathy, sure, obligation to respond in an amiable manner of course but not this, her mouth curved in amazement and somehow everyone heard her quiet giggle. She ducked her head even lower, her eyes scanning the oddly warm and very much awkward letter he wrote.

Jeyne narrows her eyes. “You’re _smiling_. By the gods, what did he write?” She demanded, exchanging her letter of the Tyrell; posh and aloof, for the one Sansa received from a dragon. Her eyebrows furrowed together. “He isn’t so eloquent, is he? I mean, a swooning writing skill from a guy is so overrated anyways.”

Sansa tries to ignore the warmth at his words, at how his handwriting is clumsy and dare she say, familiar? She shakes her head, tapping her pen against their table. “I don’t have any expectations from him.” She stiffly replied.

“That may be so but Miss Mordane has been sneaking a glance at you since you received your letter.” Her seat mate whispered to her. “If you’re having problems formulating a letter that _doesn’t_ consist of profanities that would make your mother faint, you should go to our homeroom teacher.”

Sansa hesitates though because she knows the older woman is an unofficial spy for Father. If she showed Aegon’s letter then Miss Mordane can report what the boy said to her. She wanted a genuine and authentic response that isn’t tainted with anyone else but still, he’s a _Targaryen._ She shouldn’t care so much about formalities when his ancestors didn’t share the same mind set as she.

“How’s your letter going?” She asks, creating any diversion from the assigned task of the period. She’d rather not ponder on someone who’s said to tame dragons’ centuries ago, on a faceless boy with the fury and greed all but black in his veins

The brunette shrugs. “Margaery sounds really friendly. I like her plus she seems nice. I’ll actually enjoy my report on her.” She replies in ease, bending her neck down as the pen drips inked words on her parchment.

Sansa watches her best friend in mild envy. Jeyne gets to enjoy her partner from the South. She actually likes writing to this Tyrell heiress. Meanwhile, all Sansa wants to write is for him to stop this façade of civility, of kindness like everyone around them aren’t peering over their shoulders, eager form some kind of repetition of the past.

At the end of the school year, they’re required to make a report on their experiences with their pen pals. As for now, she’s quite dismayed at having to continue with the task for her grades, for her reputation.

 _Dragons and wolves aren’t meant to be friends. They’re feared predators of their respective regions, as should be followed._ She stiffly thought, a frown curling her mouth and she grips her pen tighter. Without thinking about it, she rereads his letter, _Aegon’s_ letter, the nephew of the esteemed senator of Westeros.

“I thought relatives of politicians are supposed to be eloquent.” She whispers beneath her breath. Something about his inability to be articulate is _endearing,_ but maybe the fantasies in her head are dictating her thought.

She’s merging the pretty looks of Targaryens into the hope she’ll marry someone as honourable as the knights in a time dragons have lived. A quest for true love shouldn’t be forced upon this activity, so thinly veiled when all it wants is evidence for scandal. But one more look at his letter, her mind swims in question.

“Thirty more minutes.” Miss Mordane announced, her flinty voice cutting through Sansa’s puzzled inner monologue.

_Dear Aegon,_

_My name is Sansa Stark. I’m sixteen years old and am currently a junior. My favourite subjects, note how I use plural because I’m as my friend says bookish, are arts and oddly enough literature. There’s something about the absence of equations and calculations that makes me more enthusiastic to learn. What sort of historical books do you like? I might be a little bias in saying I adore Northern history! But the ones about the South are also fascinating and informative. My father works as the headmaster of my school. And Mother works as a lawyer in her family firm._

_Since we are to learn about each other’s culture, how about we talk about our favourite shops or foods? I’m ashamed to admit my most beloved desert is found only in Dorne, lemoncakes. They’re available at any Tyrell bakery branch and I would eat an entire batch if I could. What sort of food do you like to eat?_

_I hope to write to you as soon as I receive your response._

_Until Next Time,_

_Sansa Stark_

There was a rush of inexplicable feeling in her chest, urging her to write more but she shakes that feeling off.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Aside from the subtly interesting program of their school, Sansa’s life pushes on and on. She joined the cheer leading team, alongside Jeyne. The costume is fashioned and accommodating to the perpetual cold; long sleeves and socks wrapped around their calves. They tend to practice at the opposite side of the football field; that mainly consists of Robb, Theon, and Harry.

She doesn’t really pay attention to the boys, weighs the memorization of routines more of importance than their gazes filled of intent and adolescent wickedness. Though at times in their breaks, Jeyne would unceremoniously inform her of the gossips she hears amongst their classmates. She emphasizes on the bits and pieces she grasps of Harry Hardyng, the new transferee has filled the pockets of his slacks with hearts of nearly every girl in their year. It wasn’t a surprise at all and her skin crawls each time the blond glances at her.

“I think he has his sights set on you, Sans.” Jeyne calls over her shoulder, the fellow junior has their thick Chemistry book splayed open, calculator, pens, and papers scattered about her desk.

Sansa, sitting in her respective study desk, across from her roommate’s, spun her chair around and she arched a brow. “I’m not interested in this conversation but my head is filled with geometry _and_ physics. Gods be good Jeyne, why would you even assume that?” She demanded and pointed her pencil at her.

“Because we’re the only cheerleaders who haven’t slept with him.” She answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“And you’d think he’d zero down on me automatically?”

A fierce blush bloomed on Jeyne’s face, almost resembling apples now, much to Sansa’s fascination. “I don’t think Theon would like that.” She whispered so hushed it was as though she merely moved her lips.

But Sansa caught her confession and squealed, jumping from the chair and scrambling to her best friend. She pried away the hands covering the retaining blush on Jeyne’s face. “Truly? How long have you kids been in love?”

Jeyne groans and shakes her head. “Too new to tell you anything significant. But we went on a date last week.” She answered, her large hickory eyes glitters and a simper curls her mouth. “In fact, he wants to meet me in the library for a study session but there’s a quiz and I wouldn’t want to fail.”

“I think you need a break or else you’ll make yourself sick. Go with lover boy.” Sansa hugs her tightly. “Well, don’t let me keep you away from your man. But _please_ don’t do anything that can get you in trouble.” She advises when the brunette fetches a wool coat, obscuring her simply shirt tucked in her jeans and sneakers.

Jeyne nods. “Of course, love. I’ve been your friend all my life! Bye, love you.” She says as she closes the door behind her.

It wasn’t even long before her little sister barged in her room. The sophomore scans the very much organized and tidy room. “Let’s go, buttercup.” She urges and reopens the door. The Stark siblings always go back home at least once in a month. It’s mostly because Mother dearly demands it but Sansa isn’t opposed to this proposition.

When they arrive at the mansion, the older redhead showers them in kisses and bone crushing hugs. Her heart is warmed all over in seeing her family together, in the living room with different sorts of shenanigans happening with the interactions of her siblings. She sits next to Mother as she braids her hair in a style she’s grown used to bear when she was a child.

Robb and Arya are watching a football match, shouting for their teams. All they needed now was Jon, quiet and shy Jon that would’ve tried to calm them down and actually watch the game.

Her mouth twitches, _Oh it would be sweet to see him again._ Her body goes tense, even with the adorations done to her hair, twisting and curling it to tinier sections, her heart thuds faster. It’s been months since she thought of him, longer still when he abruptly left them, his second family. But the heart-warming scene in front of her would’ve been complete if _he_ was there.

“Robb, do you still have your notes from Physics last year? I’d like to see them.” Sansa loudly requested.

Her older brother turns to her. “Uh, check the storage next to the guest room.” He answered in a second then nearly broke his neck at the speed of how he returned to the game.

Sansa’s fingers dance on the intricate details of her hair and she brightly smiled at her mother. “I love it so much, mom. I’ll be back.” She promises, and she rises from the couch and abiding the directions of Robb.

There were numerous boxes from top to bottom shelves of the storage room. She checked the ones that are on the floor. After thirty minutes, she opened a dark green box and to her delight she finds the spiral notebooks of her brother. Though Robb doesn’t admit it, he’s quite intelligent student. But the boy prefers sports than anything else and she doesn’t blame him for his likes.

She grabs the notebook with the labelled of her desired and accursed subject, only to find a moleskin grey journal that she knows Robb doesn’t own. Curiosity gets the best of her and she brings it to her room and making sure (for no reason really because it’s _harmless)_ to lock the door of her bedroom.

The first page had her gasping in such surprise one would think she won a fortune.

Written in thick black and loose loops is an entry she’d never thought to gaze.

_Dear Journal,_

_Aunt has mercifully pitied me and actually sided in my decision to study in Winterfell. I’ve never been so happy! My name is Jon Snow now. I have to remember that if I want to blend in my classmates. I’m so excited to learn about everything the North has to offer me. Ever since I saw the picture of Mother, with layers of furs and jackets, smiling so brightly in the photograph, I want to experience what she did in Winterfell. I want to connect with her in any way that I can._

_I’m not blonde or have violet eyes like my ancestors. I don’t look like any of the people who are framed and displayed around the mansion. I like to think I look like my mom and I’m so thankful to the Seven that they granted my wish. Feeling the snow on my palm, seeing it melt and shiver because of the winds, I can die a happy boy. I can see her throwing snowballs at me, scooping me up and kissing my forehead because isn’t that what mothers do? Aunt Daenerys hasn’t ever done that. I don’t blame her she’s quite busy with her work._

_I think I belong here in the North, where she did. She wasn’t supposed to leave this wonderful paradise. She should’ve stayed home so she wouldn’t have met my dad that resulted to their death._

_Sincerely,_

_Aegon_

Sansa’s hands were shaking. She blinks and tears dot the pages of Aeg-Jon’s journal. It must’ve been hours, days, _years_ before she finally exhaled, concluding that this is real.

And so, history repeats itself in a bittersweet tune, twisting these teens in the red cloth twining them to their fate.


	5. I Write with the Blood of My Heart

Aegon and Sam have different ideas for extra-curricular activities. Sam is in the AV club and spends his time in the library. Meanwhile, Aegon’s most favoured past time is fencing. Just like now, as he and his teammates enter the gymnasium, wrapped in their uniform and they all held their helmets.

“Get your swords and I’ll pair you lots so we can see how good you really are.” Bronn, their mentor, instructed. The swords the school provided wasn’t as lethal as one a knight would proudly own. It was thin steel with a light hilt on it, leather and almost barren of any extravagant designs save for how it’s made in some metal factory.

He retrieved a sword and tested it by circling his wrist and the air was swift against his ear. It’s agile and sharp. _If this were a real battle, I would need a heavier blade, sharper and deadlier to cut any man down._ The protective pads he wore felt ridiculous and made his movements sluggish.

In the North, when he, Robb and Theon participated in fencing, they wore little to no armour. Even in the perpetual cold, they were often sweating, warm because of the severe training Sir Roderick laid upon them. he can almost see them now, three foolish boys laughing, jabbing their sides into their enemies while the elderly grey haired man is scolding them. _Troublesome boys they are with such potential for either greatness or utter destruction._ He can hear that statement in their northern accent. At times, Jon finds himself slipping into that northern rumble whenever he talks, an unconscious action he won’t ever rectify.

“Aegon Targaryen and Dickon Tarly.” Bronn decides aloud, his withered face expressed his amusement and his thin lips curled in a smirk. It was a folly, a bored induced choice, to pair up two of his best students in a duel. “I’d like to see who the best is truly? Some pampered southron lad or a Targaryen?” He taunts with a laugh. There was a cruel undertone to his command, one Aegon has to ignore for his love of this sport.

Yes, Dickon and Sam are related, blood brothers in which his friend is older. Their physiques resemble the polarity of sun and the moon. Sam is wide, fat, has shaggy brown hair and light brown eyes meanwhile Dickon took it upon himself to truly carry the known reputation of the Tarlys,  fierce in the military. He had his hickory shaded locks cut short, above the ears and barely moves at all.

The younger brother is more defined in muscles, his face sharper and he’s definitely more invested in any physical endeavour than Aegon’s friend. He swung his sword and fixed a small smile towards his opponent. Then, he wore his helmet and Aegon took that as a sign to do the same.

Bronn merely clapped and the dance began.

Aegon knew very _well_ how the other boys are making silent bets on who would win or lose, most like their trainer would encourage and join them. He also knew no one would put his name in good favour, all would be rooting for the more glorified Tarly. And why would they? He’s a bastard and a dragon one at that. Everyone was wary of him each time they’re reminded he’s actually their classmate, scared that he might act on his dragonblood or some nonsense he heard Sam inform him.

 _Snows are frowned upon in the North._ Sir Roderick once said as he and Robb were sparring. The Stark eyed him with apprehension; they never ventured on that name, his false name. _They’re more likely underestimating you so use that to your advantage, Be as vigilant as a wolf when it zeroes in its prey._ He remembered how Robb ended up on his back, impressed with Aeg-Jon’s skills; a brother’s pride is what he labelled it with the shame that sharply followed, making him wince at this memory.

He took his other mentor’s words to heart though. Everyone views him as a bastard anyway, no matter the wealth under his name; the name alone was taboo to them. Eying his opponent, he knew Dickon is thick in the head; that he moves with narrowed and stiff movements.

The first few swings of both players are avoided much to their audience’s dismay. Aegon walked in loose circles, his epee aimed at Dickon’s chest; his main target and goal. But the Tarly strikes first, stepping forward in a flash and his agility is commendable.

If only it could match Aegon’s speed, then maybe it would’ve been truly spectacular.

Aegon easily twisted to one side and if were real, he would’ve slid his sword between the boy’s ribs and be done with it. But no, it’s all for play and they’re being supervised. He swung his epee against Dickon’s and the steel sweetly sang. He blocked every attempt, dodging each slash and forward attacks because they were offense. Dickon doesn’t defend himself and keeps pressing on powerful attacks.

 _Eventually, he’ll tire himself in that armour and heavy swings._ He thought to himself, patiently counterattacking each swing with a mightier and smarter move of his own as they circled on the squared area.

“Go get him Dickon!” One of their classmates encouraged, most murmured in agreement and his assumption is proven correct.

No one wanted him here.

_I’m with them on that._

When signs of exhaustion began to make it known, Aegon’s mouth curls and he feels the sweat running paths down the sides of his head.

“Why don’t you fight Aegon? Don’t be a craven!” Some faceless boy egged on, others laughed and echoed it.

Aegon didn’t listen to them and continued to block and delay. Until finally, he saw the golden chance and he lets his enemy approach him, charging with all his might. The dark haired boy parried without failure and he gives his wrist a powerful flick, Dickon’s sword went flying in the air and he then pointed both swords to the Tarly’s chest.

“That’s enough.” Bronn decreed.

As he took his helmet off, his smile is wolfish; smug as a predator when they know they have their prey cornered. Though he’s face is drenched in sweat, he feels his blood humming but it cools down when he sees the dismayed reaction of his classmates. So _disappointed_ that he won over their beloved star player even if everyone knew Aegon’s the best one in their team.

“It’s true then, what Sam says, you’re the best swordsman in Westeros.” Dickon says, in mild naïve awe and smiles at him, patting his back.

“I think your brother is exaggerating.” Aegon mumbles, uncomfortable by the praise and the fact Sam talks about him to his family. He returns Dickon’s epee and faces Bronn, grim and taking note of their interaction.

Their mentor rubbed his beard and crossed his arms. “I never thought I’d live to see a Targaryen so careful and measured. I’d assumed you would’ve been more reckless than Tarly. Oh well, carry on with the training, lads! How about you take on Loras, yeah?” He asked Aegon and slapped him hard on the back.

The young boy felt his lungs move at the force of it but he stays stoic, trying to maintain the impassiveness that they have come to associate with him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Homeroom came around his schedule the week after. He’s a vessel for prickling nerves, anxious to what Sansa’s reply could be. He has known to anticipate her reply every two weeks, his heart humming joyfully at the mere thought of indirectly talking with his crush. With unfortunate luck, he found himself almost loving her and he suspects a piece of his heart is kept within each letter he sends her.

It’s been three months since this program has been launched. Everyone in his class seems to like the idea as well, buzzing with excitement to correspond with their partner from such a long of distance. He has heard Sam fondly talk about his pen pal, Gilly; a shy thing with fond talks of gardens and long walks in them. He suspects his friend is half-way in love already.

When he receives Sansa’s letter, he indiscreetly lifted the envelope and he smiled when the scent of lavender wafted into his senses in a sweet invasion. For the past month, she has been adding her perfume on her letters and the paper has those flowery designs instead of the formal papers they’re given in the beginning of class.

As he opened the letter, he heard someone approaching him, at the back of the classroom, with shuffled leathered shoes and it turns out to be Sam.

He lifted a brow at how his friend gave him folded pieces of paper. “What’s this? I told you I can’t do math like you do.” He says, joking but the intrigue on Sam’s face made the humour flat.

“Remember how I told you I mentioned you to Gilly from time to time? Yes well, here’s a letter.” Sam explained, as frustratingly vague as he can. He then leaves Aegon to deal with it as he returned to his seat.

Rolling his eyes, he sets aside Sansa’s letter and unfolded the one Sam gave. The first sentence made him gasp, a sharp intake of breath that everyone around him narrowed their eyes.

“A problem, Mister Targaryen?” Their homeroom teacher asked with a lifted brow.

“None, ma’am.” Aegon replied, eying Sam with a subtle alarming look that urged the chubby boy to go back to him, ignoring the pointed stare of their teacher. It was easy to shoo away his seatmate to replace him with his roommate. “Sam, what in the _seven hells_ is this?” He hissed in controlled fury and shock.

Sam scoffed. “You think I read that? She merely mentioned in her letter to me there’s a separate later to give to my friend. I’ve only ever listed one in that category. Is it a love letter?” He questioned with a ting of envy, of longing.

“It’s worse, far _fucking_ worse than that.” Aegon breathed out. He read through the page and realized there was more than one. “Ah gods, Sam I’ve screwed up!” He whined uner his breath but his friend is busy reading the first page and his eyes widening by the passing second.

_Dear Jon,_

_I found your journal. You have no idea on the onslaught of emotions that surged in me to found out my pen pal is the best friend of my brother! I thought about it in the past few months, each time I get a hold of your letter, I want to tell you how relieved I am to know more of you, how I’m so happy our connection isn’t broken by distance. But unfortunately, I can’t write all of this on my letter to you, I suspect Father takes a liberating peek at your letter for me. Once I saw a tear at the edge of the envelope, precisely like how he opens letters at home with his wolf shaped letter opener. I remember how Robb cut himself because of that and you and Theon laughed silly for long minutes. You should smile more, laughing and happiness suits you so much._

_Anyways, you’ve mentioned Sam and his pen pal Gilly, my classmate and well it wasn’t hard to concoct a plan of secrecy to truly talk to you. In ways I wished we did when we had the chance to converse personally. No matter, I’ll grasp the straws that I can because I’ll get to talk to you, truly so. This must be too forward for you and I apologize in being so brazen but I must ask for forgiveness in that I read every page of your journal. I know it’s invasive and utterly rude of me but I was so captivated by your thoughts. I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t quench this curiosity to get to know you more. It’s a fine thing to know my admiration of you is sweetly reciprocated!_

_I admit I had a crush on you when I was young. Theon is a disaster on two legs, always so chaotic and smirks and japes on his mouth. You’re the quiet one, the one that captivated me long before I knew this is more than admiration. I couldn’t believe it at first; the revelation that you’re a Targaryen. From what I know of your ancestors and of you, you are so much different and better than them. You do not possess the infamous dragonblood. You don’t even look like them!_

_What I want to know is, would you want the rest of my family to know this? I will carry your secret to my grave if you’d ask. Don’t you want your friends to know what had happened to you? At times, when Arya or Robb would accidentally slip in your name, we would go silent because until now we miss you greatly. Don’t you miss us? I know you miss my family Robb, Arya, Theon, and even my little brothers. Do them the kindness of lightening their burdened hearts._

_If you want me to tell them, I will, I’ll tell them with pride how you’re as honourable as I know you are. Perhaps if you want them to know, you can give me your home address so school won’t be a hindrance. Just in case you’re leaning towards this idea, I have written down our address. Jon, we’re here for you. I don’t care about your aunt’s repulsion of the North because I know you love it here once, you’ve mentioned how you belong here with us._

_Prove it, Jon._

_Forever Yours,_

_Sansa_

Aegon couldn’t remember what he wrote down in response to Sansa’s formal letter. It held more impersonal tone with talks of school and literature. He wrote short and precise paragraphs but he didn’t think on it much, his mind is reeling at the revelation laid on his lap. He hurriedly folded it and tucked it under his book while he took out a blank paper to write to Sansa’s more personal letter.

 

_Dear Sansa,_

_I’m so sorry for lying to you, to everyone about my identity. It’s never been my intention to inflict any pain to your family. Please forgive me but I don’t regret it. My aunt, as you probably picked up in my entries, she’s a determined person and she’ll do whatever it takes to get what she wants. If only I’m not so young, so powerless, if I had some power of my own, I’d resist her and stay with ~~you~~ your family for as long as time permits. I don’t mind you read my journal, Sansa but you have no idea how ecstatic I am that you return how I feel about you, how you’re my first crush and likely the most precious one of all. _

_In regards of letting your family know, I would absolutely love it if they knew. I know they’d be in disbelief and shock but show them my journals. (And if possible spare me the humiliation of Robb getting a hold of my lovesick entries of you. You know what? Tear them out and keep those to yourself, they’re only ever for you anyways) I hope you’re ready to defend me on my behalf because I won’t be there to answer their questions. I owe them at least that._

_I know they won’t forgive me, not immediately anyways but I do want them to know how I love them so much, that they’re my true family. It’s true I feel like I belong in Winterfell, in the cold winds and the warmth of happiness with the Starks._

_I long to see you smile so shyly, Sansa. I miss you too maybe more than the rest of your siblings. Tell me truly how you’ve been, how your days are with the future letters will exchange because this farce formal letters we’ve been writing give me no genuine hints about your well-being. And I tend to think of you more than I think I should, more than what your father would consider honourable._

_I’ll write down my address because I want to hear from each of your siblings how they are. I miss you all, each second of every day, I think of you Starks._

_Yours Eternally,_

_Jon_

He stares at the name he wrote, it was without a thought yet somehow it suited him better. Perhaps because it was a connection to his cheerful childhood memories with the people who called him in that name, he knows this is the reason. Unlike the one he wears now, like a crown forged in gold and jewels that he _has_ to carry, an ancestral burden of sorts.

He stands up with quivering knees and hands his letter to Sam. “Here.” He whispers.

Sam accepts with narrowed eyes. “Tell me later what happened.” He conditioned and he joined Aegon’s letter along with his.

When the day winds down and dinner starts in hour, Aegon finds himself staring at the vacant ceiling. Sansa’s lavender scented letters scattered on his chest, his feet covered socks swaying, and he keeps on replaying what has happened. By some miracle, the gods have spared him the life-long misery of regret and opened a new bridge of chances. _Maybe this road leads to Sansa._

Aegon smiles in ridiculous pride at that, at how Sansa, his sweet and perfect Sansa likes him the way he likes her. He could picture telling Theon only for the Greyjoy to roll his eyes and pretend to vomit.

 _Go on then, marry her and have fifty babies with her!_ Theon would taunt him and more so until his face is fiery hot and his ears and at its pinkest.

The door slams and he sits up, keeping the letters to him so they won’t drift down on the floor.

Sam sits down, puffing and he know how much his roommate suffers from the stairs. “Helping around in the library is no joke, Aegon. It’s actual work, manlier endeavours if I may say.” He leans back and waves his hand dismissively in the air. “Well, carry on then, tell me what that was about.”

Aegon sat on the edge of Sam’s bed so he’s closer to the sweating brunette. He isn’t sure if the walls are thin or thick but he is cautious if anyone heard this. “Sansa knows I’m Aegon.” He says in a purposefully low tone.

“What!” Sam shouted in surprise and nearly fell off his chair by how he swayed to one side, from him.

“Shut up!” He said in equal panic and pulled him rightly on the chair so he wouldn’t land on his arse. “I’ll only tell you if you’ll stay still!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really hope this is okay,,, i did enjoy writing this and i plan to write more even if this isn't such a hit lmao 
> 
> p.s. I've daydreamed of jon fencing for a WHILE now finally i wrote my fantasy down! next time imma do him shirtless lol


	6. Winter and Snow are One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth sets us free, they say. So how come Aegon is still bounded down at the South? For once, Sansa wants to rescue her hero.

Sansa is consistently supportive of Jeyne and her newfound (and utterly confounding) relationship with Theon. She didn’t expect the Greyjoy to be so sweet on her best friend. Judging from the stories of their dates, the fondness on the brunette’s face, well, Sansa knows the jokester of the group takes the boyfriend role. Good, she thought, they both deserve happiness and they seem to work.

What she _also_ supports is how dreamy eyed Jeyne is in her free time. When she’s not recalling the cute dates or fondly retells how Theon likes to kiss her forehead, she’s off making out with the smiling kraken. And this leaves Sansa with their room all to herself.

She supposed if her best friend saw her, smiling goofily, cradling a stack of papers like they were bouquets of flowers, Jeyne would immediately suspect something in the romantic section. But the fellow junior isn’t in their dormitory most of the time so no one is a witness to Sansa acting so gleefully (maybe in love, a whisper at the edge of her mind giggled).

It’s been another two months of corresponding with her pen pal, her most probable crush, her _everything_ if she only acknowledges it. She manages to convince her father to drive her home the night before Jon’s letter arrive, an event none in her family knows about. Early in the morning, she races down the stairs, quiet as a cat, and waits for the mail man to drop letters on the doorstep.

Most of them were bills and advertisements but at the very bottom, she stares at the familiar handwriting. Her heart _dances_ at the reality of Jon actually writing to her, no pretence of obligation to their schools or absurd politics adults are fixated on. No, this is just them and only about them, getting to know each other in a manner she was denied because of her mother.

It was never difficult in mailing her letters to Jon. She actively doesn’t use his _other_ name because that ancient name has ties drenched in blood and ashes. She doesn’t want that. She only ever wants Jon, _her_ Jon, with his awkward yet awfully sweet letters and his talks of Sam, his drawings decorating the border of his paragraphs, and how loose and cursive his penmanship is.

“….And I said that he was silly but the fool still tried to kiss me in the library! Can you believe that?” Jeyne exclaims with peals of giggles. She sat across of Sansa, cross legged, her cinnamon locks flowing on one shoulder and they’re both clad in pyjamas. She puffs her cheeks. “Gosh, I’m so selfish these days! Sans, we should go walk around the campus. Let’s have some girl time!” She suggested with a bright eyed look.

The redhead smiles. “Yes, I missed you Jeyne. Let’s go!” She urged with a laugh. They then changed into more appropriately outdoors outfit.

“Oh, babe, be careful of your shoebox. You could trip and hurt yourself.” Jeyne calls over her shoulder as she ties her hair into a high ponytail. Since she’s busy styling herself, she missed the pure panic on Sansa’s face and how frenzied her actions are in hiding the beige box underneath her bed. She faces the calmer Sansa. “Let’s go?”

They both fetched their fur line coats by the hanger and explored the school grounds. They talked of so many things, laughing and completely avoiding the topic of love and relationships because sometimes, friendship ranks higher than romantic love. When it was dinner time, they sat side by side with their other friends, delighting in the warm foods that provided a great comfort in the perpetual cold of the North.

“Who do you think is it this time?” Gilly wondered in bewilderment. Her mousy brown hair is frizzy and she’s wearing a thick grey knitted sweater. She’s the only one who knows what’s happening to Sansa and hasn’t went off about her secret to anyone so far.

Beth wore a devious smirk. “My, maybe Sansa in the next time.” She insinuates with wicked intent.

Sansa’s spoon of braised lamb paused halfway in the air. She drops it on her plate and frowns at her giggly friends. “I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry, Sans! We’ll be um, encouraging about it!” Jeyne cooed and the two laughed.

When it’s obvious the target of their discreet jokes hasn’t caught up, Beth reached forward and patted her hand. “I’m sure you’ll hook up with Harry in no time soon, babe.” She adds a wink and drinks her cup of lemonade. “I’ve been hearing talks of how Harry definitely wants you. And why not? He’s in the top of that knightly list of yours. It should happen seamlessly.”

Sansa glances at Gilly in subtle panic and the other junior caught on and her eyes widened as well. “I-I don’t think it’ll happen anytime soon.” She coolly deflects, carefully scanning the busy scene of the cafeteria to inspect if her family happens to hear this mortifying conversation. _And I happen to like brooding and awkward. Blonde and charismatic is out of my list for my man!_

Beth frowns. “Oh don’t put yourself down, love. You’re the prettiest girl in our year. It’s only a matter of time before you both will gravitate to each other.” She assures Sansa with a small smile.

“Romantic collision, how dreamy!” Jeyne agrees.

Gilly blinks at Sansa then finishes her soup without saying a word more but worry is seen in the way she frowns and how stiff her posture is. When they amble to their rooms, Gilly purposefully delayed her steps and moved beside Sansa. “They don’t know.” It wasn’t a question but a statement with fear coating the words.

“They don’t.” Sansa echoes and they could’ve moved forward, caught up with Beth and Jeyne, if only someone didn’t call her name. Her hand gripped Gilly’s tightly, her palm went ice as winter winds and her mouth is dry.

They both turned and much to her horror, Harry bloody Hardyng is jogging up to them with a swagger. She kept her grip iron like and Gilly didn’t even wince at the force of it.

The blonde stood in front of them, his admired sunshine locks sway along his forehead. His sky light eyes are bright in the evening gloom but his smile is empty of care and only intent. “May I talk with Sansa alone?” He requested in a tenderly polite manner. But the rumours contradict this behaviour, of how he broke hearts and doesn’t give a care of the hurt he inflicted, at how girls cried themselves to sleep because of him. His smile is sweet and deceiving.

Gilly opens her mouth but merely squeaks out of fear.

“I can’t.” Sansa almost shrieks but reigns in her annoyance just in time. “Gilly here has her period.” She hides her smirk at his nose scrunching. “Her cycle this month is profoundly  _so much_ I have to hold her hand so she can walk properly. The cramps can actually reduce us girls into-“

“Alright! I, uh, understand I’ll find you in some other more convenient time.” Harry says in that honeyed tone that she’s learning to despise. He waves then leave sin the opposite direction.

Sansa looked at Gilly and they both started to laugh, with tears in their eyes, and hands on their stomach. Their youthful sounds echoed in the abandoned hall they stand at.

“We should go back.” Sansa suggested.

Gilly walked alongside her and occasionally spared her a worried expression. “You can’t keep disgusting him with periods each time he wants to talk to you.” She smartly reminded the redhead. “And I know you’re not interested in him but rather of, _him.”_ She said in a hushed tone as though the walls had ears and eavesdropped on young girls whispering secrets to each other.

“I’ll think of something.” She says, not confirming or denying her interests on Jon. They bid their goodbyes and parted ways. Her night went on as any normal days, she and Jeyne study for exams, compare notes for their classes, and do their homework together and recheck each other’s work.

Ten pm is light’s out and by that time, Jeyne is on her bed, all cuddled up and lightly snoring. It’s a calming sound as Sansa carefully takes out the shoe box and places it beside her on the bed. Turning her table lamp on, she extracts a stack of letters and rereads them. She probably memorized it at this point. The way his sentences slant upwards and there are little doodles decorating the borders of the paper and in a way, creates a sense intimacy meant only for her.

_Dear Sansa Stark_

_Thanks to your abundant knowledge of the North’s history, I managed to ace the exam of Mr. Lannister. I guess the stories you’ve told me, historical figures and names have retained in my memory because they’re traced back to you. Since you’re always in my mind, it’s an easy access of information that saved me from a retake of a hellish exam._

_How can I reward you so? I sketched my favourite place in the entire country; here is a torn piece of paper from my sketchpad. There’s a Godswoods here but it isn’t large or sufficient to maintain faith of any Northerner. The weirwood tree isn’t as grand and large like the way you’ve so beautifully described to me; the red in the leaves aren’t like the blood of the gods but pale like of a sunset. It’s my favourite spot because it’s a connection to you._

_If I had the skill, I would’ve sketched you, painted you on every surface I can find because people should know of your beauty and how angelic you are in every way. But maybe that’s a good thing though because I would abandon any god in the entire world and worship you instead. I hate the distance between us because I want to be close to you as I dare. Sweet girl, you’re all I think about and maybe it’s near to being a devout follow of you, my most enchanting goddess._

_Even if it’s been a while since I’ve been in Winterfell, most of the things here remind me of my true home. I excel at fencing because it’s a sport me, your brother, and Theon enjoyed the most because it involves stabbing each other with blunted swords and running around ignoring Roderick’s commands. I visit the godswood every day, praying mostly. I pray for your family’s wellbeing and I would give absolutely anything to see you, to embrace you so tight that I might never let you go._

_Bugger my Aunt and politics._

_San, I think it’s time to tell your family. It’s been two months and we’ve thoroughly discussed each and every alternative that could happen. Down to the option of Robb and Arya somehow finding my house and beat me bloody. You can do this, I believe in you, love! Plus all that Model UN surely taught you a thing or two about diplomacy? You have my complete faith. And if only we weren’t worlds away, I would’ve done this myself with you by my side._

_Eternally Yours,_

_Jon_

Sansa smiles to herself, sighing in the very same way Jeyne does whenever she fleeting mentions her boyfriend. Jon’s right, the time is perfect and there’s no concrete reason not to tell the Starks of her discovery.

The next day, by clockwork, Arya arrives at her room with a pointed stare and a lifted eyebrow. “What’s with the backpack? Mum has all our extra stuff there.” She points out.

Sansa shrugs. “It’s my assignments I plan to do at home.” She explains, well _lies_ because the shoe box is stuffed in her backpack and the journal Sansa has basically memorized from front to back.

The ride to their house is rowdy as usual. Theon and Robb are loudly joking around with Arya on the side, joining in and the calming classical music her father always puts in the stereo can’t be heard. Isn’t it a crime to not hear Schubert and his refined skills? Father would agree. Bran is on the shot gun seat, quiet and solemn as she is. But that’s in his nature meanwhile she’s a bundle of nerves and her palms are slick with sweat.

Dinner was a lively affair with conversations and jokes all around, buzzing the air with familial warmth. Eventually, everyone settled at the living room, lounging about. Her parents are on the couch, Robb, Theon, and Arya on the carpeted floor as they all watch replay of the footy matches. Bran and Rickon are playing some card game beside the coffee table.

“I have an announcement.” Sansa declared, cringing at how shrill and high strung her voice became and with concern, everyone turned to her.

Catelyn frowns. “Love, what is it?” She inquired.

She licked her lips and her hands gripped the shoebox tighter and closer to her chest. “Well, it-it’s so complicated and hard to explain but it’s about my pen pal.” She starts off slowly but Father straightened up and he frowns, even more so than usual. _He must be so worried._

“What about him? Did he do something wrong to you?” Robb asks with a brotherly hatred for the boy already.

Sansa laughs and shakes her head. “No, well, uh, I’ve discovered a peculiarity in my situation. I think it’s easier if I just said it. Okay so Aegon Targaryen is actually Jon Snow, the other honourable mention of a Stark.” She says all of this in one breath, looking only at Jon’s friends for reactions and they all wore bewilderment on their faces.

“Um what the fu-fig? You’re joking right? Trying to be the joker now?” Theon says with an empty laugh. When no protest came or Sansa saying “I got you!” the brunette frowns like a Stark. “How-how did you even conclude it that way? Even   _I_ think it’s insane and I’m the one who dived in piles of snow naked for a few bucks and laughs.”

“ _Sansa_ ” Arya hisses with mild fury. “What in the gods are you saying? Is this some sick joke to you? I know he wasn’t of _any_ importance to you but that isn’t funny. He’s family even though he left us without reason and I really want to punch his face so hard. Gee, thanks for reminding me of that ass.” She stood up with fists curled and so did Robb but he laid a hand on the small girl’s shoulder.

“Settle down, Arya.” Ned scolds then Sansa notes how blanched his complexion has become. “I think you owe us an explanation for this rather, shocking revelation.” He gently requests with a small smile.

“Is that a conspiracy theory? Like how the moon controls us, brother?” Rickon loudly interrupts but he doesn’t notice it as they continue their game.

“No and yes.” Bran simply answers and lays a card flat on the floor with a grin. “I knew you’d use that.”

“How?!”

“ _Anyways,_ here.” Sansa opens up the marked section of Jon’s journal and shows it to Robb and Arya. She sees the confusion morph into shock and it’s contagious because Theon and her parents looked at the journal the same way. For once in the conventional cacophonous household, none made a sound and it was as though the air stilled among them.

“This has been in our house since he left?”Catelyn demanded with a scowl and gave it to Robb who now sat on the floor along with Arya and Theon. They’ve gained an interest on Jon’s inner thoughts.

She and Jon both agreed it was much safer without the entries wherein he would gush about her. Much to his embarrassment, it took up nearly half his entries. She found it endearing and her admiration (crush, really) grows more intense.

“Does he know that you know?” Ned questions in all seriousness.

Sansa nods. “Yes I kept nothing from him and he was completely honest with me unlike how you’ve been, Father.” She carefully drops it in. She tries not to be mad at her dad but if _only_ the stubborn man told his family then maybe Jon wouldn’t feel so loved and alone in the same breath. “He told me _everything_ , How you knew his true name and how you gave him the name Jon.”

“Yeah, uh, we’re not calling him Aegon. Though, egg is a necessary jab at him.” Theon chimes in but then dives back in to reading Jon’s journal. The three of them snickering and jokes already churning in their minds.

“It was for his protection. No one should know who he is.” Ned insists with a firm tone as though Sansa is sent to the principal’s office for misconduct.

“Even form your own family?” Catelyn snaps, the famed I’m So Disappointed At You frown is now directed at her husband. “Form your _wife?_ You wouldn’t tell your wife, the love of your life and mother of your children, of this scheme you’ve concocted with those Targaryens?”

“I didn’t scheme with Targaryens, honey. Jon wanted to be here in Winterfell. What was I supposed to do? Lyanna would’ve wanted him here with us, with our children.” Ned explained and his voice cracked at saying the woman’s name. There were tears in his eyes and he cleared his throat. “It’s the least I cann do for her and for Jon.”

Catelyn scooted closer and hugged him. “Right, he’s Lyanna’s son. It makes sense now.” She faced her eldest daughter without any lingering anger. “So Jon told you to tell us?”

She nods, her knees were shaking so bad that she had to take a seat on the plush chair nearest to the fireplace. At her feet was her other siblings and Theon. “He wanted you all to know he loves us all, no matter what or where he is.”

Ned beamed proudly. “He’s a good lad.”

_Jon is kind, gentle, and strong._

“My gods, his aunt is so domineering! I want him back with us.” Arya demanded to no one in particular.

Robb snorted but there was amazement on his face that retained there since the revelation. “What’re going to do, sneak him out of the Capital? It’s King’s Landing, Arya, and its like a a thousand leagues from here.”

“Wow Johnny boy’s writing sucks so much, damn.” Theon huffed a breath. “And he sounds so happy here and not so much with his _beloved_ Aunt of his.” He observed smartly.

“Our break is about to begin in a few weeks.” Bran chimed in. His large hickory eyes had a mischievous spark and his soft lips curled into a grin that the other teenagers quickly caught on. “If he can’t go to us, we’ll have to bring Winter to him.”

Their parents laughed.

Sansa smiled harder. “ _Actually,_ snow will always belong to winter. Southron winters aren’t for the Starks after all.”

“And me.” Theon added.

“And Theon.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Robb said with an interested tone.

“First, I want you all to write to Jon. I’ll mail it to him afterwards.” Sansa negotiated. “Then, we shall plan the grandest reunion.”

Arya stood up and circled her skinny arms around Sansa’s neck. She was _trembling_ and the older sister returned the hug as well. “Thank you.” She breathed into Sansa’s ear.

“I’ll do anything for my family.” Sansa replied.

 _I’ll do anything to make Jon happy._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed this update


	7. Hellfire Won't Kill Me But This Distance Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are poorly kept in the capital. Someone steps up to make it their profit. Aegon is the unexpected keeper of such secrets. But the secrets close to his heart, the Starks, doesn't have a price to be bought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry this fic is stupidly long. i don't even know why people read this but i really appreciate your kudos and comments. i hope this is alright.

Aegon went home for the weekend. Usually, he would have readied and logical reasons to decline Aunt’s offer to return home. But now, as he has been corresponding with Sansa outside of school, he awaits her letters at the mansion. The edifice is an old ruin, housed many of his ancestors, and it had an aura of old money in it.

An imposing Victorian styled building with three floors. It’s painted entirely in alabaster and the side-gabled roof is of ivory with balustrades lined along it. Windows are in equilibrium with elaborate pediments and had cream curtains draped on either side. Symmetrically trimmed bushes lined up the sides of the porch. A balcony extended at the second floor and at the front of the house. It came complete with Greek pillars towering on the porch.

The moment he arrived somebody was lingering in the vast living room. “Varys.” Aegon greeted with a thin smile.

The fat man wore a suit, a peculiar one with golden designs and is made from silk. When the secretary returned his smile, it wasn’t as farce as Aegon’s only better practiced. “Ah, Aegon! Finally, you’ve come to visit us. Miss Targaryen has missed you dearly.” He says. The perfumes he spray all over himself is a sickeningly sweet scent Aegon nearly chokes on. “Come, she would want to see you. Or are you waiting for something hm? A package perhaps?”

For a moment, he nearly stopped breathing. _How the hell would he know?_ But that’s a question with its own answer. Varys is known for knowing crucial information about any politician, their deepest secrets, the not so hidden desires for more power and he has sufficient influence and people to make the strings play the right tune, at least for him.

“Where is she? I do miss her.” Aegon says instead and follows Varys to the second floor, turning to the left where he knew her office is set up.

 _Why would exchanging letters with Sansa suddenly be political?_ He then recalls the warning of the guidance counsellor. People are curious to find out what is happening with this new program, hungry for one or both of the teenagers to slip up enough to cry out for war.

Danaery’s young face brightened up in seeing her nephew. Her silver locks are tied up in a firm bun, her amethyst eyes sparkled like polished jewels and her pink mouth curved in delight.

She rounded about the table, stilettoes clicking against the polished wooden floor, and she wraps her arms around him, standing on her toes as she does. “Oh, Aegon this is quite a surprise! Let us celebrate your arrival. I seem to recall you love venison.” She said into his shoulder, pulling back, she kisses his cheek.

“I’ve missed you too.” Aegon replies but it feels like a lie. Yet he smiles through his mouth. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.” He murmurs.

In his childhood, he wasn’t allowed in this room. Towering wooden shelves are posed on each wall, all of them filled with books and photo albums. Most of which belonged to their families stretching decades back and she knows each of them quite proudly. He can’t say the same for himself.

A large beige sofa is pushed against the wall, where her bodyguard sits, quietly observing them. _Jorah,_ Aegon places a name on the sullen face. He’s been with his aunt for as long as he has been under roof. Aegon hasn’t taken a liking to the old man then and his feelings haven’t changed. “Hello, Jorah.” He greets as his aunt chats with her secretary.

Jorah dips his chin down in acknowledgement. “Aegon, how are you boy?” He asks in that gruff tone, resembling a bear’s roar. He used to be scared of this man because of how vacant his expressions are, how he seems to glower at everything and barely speak a word.

“Good enough.”

“I bet the trip was long. Why don’t you rest, love? Go on. I shall call you when supper is ready.” Daenerys says with a pat on his cheek and a wave of her hand.  “Varys please inform the kitchen staff on the menu tonight. It should be special.” She requested in a casually stern voice as she sat back down on her luxury chair.

Aegon left just as his aunt’s beloved secretary did. He walks in his bedroom, grimacing at how tidy and neat everything is. The canopy bed has ruby red curtains, heavy with gold that it matches the blankets and pillows. He drops his backpack on the carpeted floor. And he takes his shoes off before plopping on the bed, bouncing at the impact.

He recalls the rooms of the Starks. Since he and Theon visited nearly every weekend, the guest bedrooms were basically theirs and they tend to leave a few things that eventually became personalized. But they wouldn’t dare to make a mess of the guest room, in fear of the fierce redhead that is Robb’s mother. They would leave shirts, neatly folded in closets, or a textbook they wouldn’t need and it’d still be there.

Robb’s bedroom is ungodly in its mess. Clothes strewn about, books marked and opened on his study desk, and his bed is rarely tucked in and neatly made. He tells Aegon how often his mother scolds him but with school and sports, he hardly has the time to be clean in his room. Plus, he comes home every weekend so there was no reason to arrange everything into a new order.

_It’s always been a mess and when I return I want it to be as chaotic when I left. It makes me think nothing changed, you know?_

“No, Robb, I don’t know.” Aegon answered to the bleak ceiling, feet swinging and his hands resting on his stomach.  It dawned upon him that this bedroom has been rarely used by him. He has been in board school all his life, with the Starks up in the North and now to another prison. He occupies this room at the most of two months but it’s not enough time to decorate and transform it into his own style.

An ache swells somewhere in his chest. Was it pity or loneliness? He wouldn’t know the difference. With the softness of the mattress beneath him, he figured a short nap wouldn’t do him harm.

Not long after, he was summoned in the dining hall. He notes Jorah sitting at the left side of his aunt with Varys. There were trays of food and the blonde sat at the head of the table as always; as she thinks the order should be.

“How’s school, my nephew?” Daenerys hums, gingerly drinking her glass of wine. In the low light of the evening, her complexion resembles a bright star against the velvet night.

Aegon stirs his spoon through the hot plate of venison. “I’m coping well enough.” He answers in the usual manner.

Jorah barely makes a sound as he eats, his spine erect as ever and his face a permanent scowl. Meanwhile Varys is the only one truly enjoying the feast and happily eats and refills his plate like there isn’t a tension in the air.

“I _hate_ being kept in the dark, darling child.” She quietly hissed but all the while she calmly slices through the braised beef and dips it into her small mouth. Her tone is dark as the night and just as mysterious and dangerous.

“I don’t know what you imply.” He replies and drinks his glass of lemon water.

Her eyes narrow only an inch and her mouth is pinched into a frown. “An editor of an esteemed magazine, _Mockingbird_ has requested to have an interview with you, my darling nephew. Mr Baelish said that he wishes to speak about the pen pal program. Of which I know _nothing_ about but I agreed he come to our mansion tomorrow morning.” She drops her utensils and the men shift in their seats, bracing themselves for what’s to come. “Pray tell, what did he mean by that?”

Aegon bobs his head and swallows down the groan that surfaced at hearing this. “In homeroom, we have pen pals and they’re from the North.” He explains but her thin brow arched in request for more, much to his discomfort. He wishes the maple floor would open up and swallow him whole instead of facing her famed wrath. “Mine happens to be an individual influential in the North. I guess that’s why Mr Baelish is interested.”

Daenerys takes longer time in drinking her wine. She frowns deeper and her fingers clench around the half-filled wine glass. To which, Jorah fills it up without so much as a command. “No Southron journalist would care if your partner was a Manderly or a Karstark. No, your pen pal is a bloody _Stark_.” She sneered in thinly restrained anger. “And you didn’t tell me because you still care for these northerners. A soft spot I thought had hardened in the heat of this blasted city. Who is your pen pal?”

 “It’s Sansa Stark. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. You have Westeros to worry about rather than me.” Aegon said, most of it a truth and the rest is partial. He didn’t want her to worry because she doesn’t worry, she _reacts._ And that is the type of thing he has actively avoided all his life with her.

The blond lets out a soft laugh. “Ah, I assumed you talked with Robb. From your stories you hardly ever mention Robb’s little sister and I trust the boy doesn’t know your true identity?” She questioned and if her statement were a sword, his limb would be separated from the rest of him.

 _Robb doesn’t know for now but Sansa does._ “Robb and Theon do not know I swear it.” Aegon replies in confidence.

The saccharine smile surfaced and Aegon knew what it meant. She thinks she has won over her nephew in this discussion. He wanted to smile because for once, he knew something she doesn’t.

“Good.” Daenerys said in a clipped tone and her posture relaxed against the velvet cushion of her chair.  It implied that everything is not settled in her perspective but her show of anger is finished for now. “Aegon, please elaborate this program you’re under.” She says, not glancing at him but drinking more of the wine.

Aegon shifted in his seat. “The main goal of it all is to learn the North’s culture. We exchange the fundamental stuffs-“

“-Do not say stuffs. It’s improper.” She intervened but waved her hand for continuation.

“The fundamental information then I will learn about their lifestyle and such. At the end of the year, we’re to make a report about our pen pal, about what we’ve learned and how this expanded our notions of the opposing nation.” He explained then finally delved in his portion of the braised beef, nearly drowning in its gravy and the venison that tempts him to eat it all in one bite.

“See Varys, what did I tell you? He’s born to be a leader. Oh I can just see him being a senator like me. Or even better, be like his Father, president of Westeros!” She exclaimed in delight and a bright smile.

Her secretary nodded and smiled, it wasn’t of joy but not out of awkwardness. It was as though he knew what would happen and smiled because of the future. “Yes madam, after you’re done being the _ruler_ of Westeros he could be your successor.” He jested and only the woman laughed. Jorah and Aegon stayed stoic and sullen.

The discomfort upon hearing the route of their conversation is an expected reaction. All his life, he has heard his aunt and Varys casually converse about the most powerful position in the land like it was the weather. He detested how he’s roped in without even asking how he _feels_ about it. To which his answer would be “bugger off” because he doesn’t want that much power and prestige. What he wants, has been yearning since he knew how to, is a place in the world, a person to love and to be _satisfied._

_Dragons are never content. Their greed is far vaster than any ocean and sea. They’d be content in a world of ashes._

“Wait, with this program and the publicity it brings, could it lessen the discrimination in our name, Varys? Tell me true. Aegon here is a sweet boy and wouldn’t dare insult anyone through ink and pen.” Daenerys excited questioned, almost looking young but her statements would indicate how mature her thoughts are.

The fat man considered it for a few minutes and Aegon took it upon himself to finish his dinner before he hears the answer. “Yes it would, ma’am. People would see how time has changed your family perhaps now in a kind and more considerate manner. But this also depends on the result of your interview tomorrow, Aegon.”

The last sentence nearly made Aegon want to throw his dinner plate at the secretary. He didn’t want _more_ pressure for the sake of this family.

“Well then, I want possible questions drawn up and Varys, you’ll drill him until he’s well prepared. I want tomorrow’s interview to be flawless, for our sake, sweet child.” Daenerys says and stands up, dropping a kiss at the top of his head and exits the dining room. Jorah shortly follows and the staffs come in to retrieve everything.

 _So much for a celebration,_ Aegon scowls as he follows Varys to his separate office in the mansion.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The interview is set up at ten in the morning at their mansion. Aegon was dragged out of bed at eight, ate, and bathed by nine. He wore stiff long sleeve polo, buttoned to his neck it felt like he was choking on air. His curls were mercilessly smothered with hair gel and combed until there weren’t any strands that framed his face out of revolt.

“Ah, Mr Baelish, welcome to our home!” His Aunt’s cheery voice carried through the silent air in the living room. Jorah was sitting in the corner, vigilant as ever. Varys is most likely at her side, with the same jovial smile like hers.

Meanwhile Aegon sat on one of the long couches, ancient but maintained its rich gold colours. His leg kept on bouncing, his fingers dancing along his clothed knee, and his eyes are trained on the bricked up fireplace with lazy tendrils of flames eating up the wood. He barely slept because of his nerves and he wanted to race out of the estate if he could. But he won’t because though Jorah appears stocky, he could outrun the tanager without breaking a sweat.

The anticipated party has arrived. To Aegon’s worst nightmare, there was a photographer that trailed behind one of the most respected journalists around; Petyr Baelish. He was of average stature, with salt and pepper hair, with a wisp of moustache above his thin lips. He wore a pewter grey suit and walked with confidence and purpose, eerily matching of that his aunt’s.

“There’s the man of the hour.” Petyr says in a low spoken manner and though he appears to be nice, Aegon immediately didn’t trust the man. There were photos taken and the journalist egged on his aunt to sit beside him. Luckily, Daenerys wore a humbling azure dress with her blond locks flowing on one of her shoulders.

“Is it alright if I sit back and watch?” Daenerys questioned, Jorah pushing a chair behind her so she doesn’t have to reach for any other chair.

“I don’t mind. Do you?” Petyr said with his honeyed voice.

Aegon wanted to scowl. “I don’t mind, Aunt.”

The journalist went through the basic information of his name, childhood, age, and such. Varys had advised to answer that his primary school was home school since he spent them up North. _We wouldn’t want a scandal. There would be investigations and speculations, dear Aegon. And your aunt’s name and integrity as a server of this realm will be questioned._ And so he answers with a straight face, a face that told nothing and didn’t raise suspicions at the same time.

“And finally the interesting part, how do you find Miss Stark?” Petyr questioned. He crossed his leg and balanced a thick spiral notebook on his knee while he held a pen. There was something dark in his eyes, an expression Aegon didn’t quite like when he mentioned Sansa.

_I think I’m half-way to being in love with her. Even with all her flaws, I always look forward to her lavender scented letters and her pretty cursive writings. I find that she’s quite perfect and I want to embrace her and never let go._

“She’s polite enough, kind and considerate in her words. She’s much better in articulating the necessary thing we are to learn from each other.” He conscientiously keeps the fond smile from his face. One too many times, Sam has whined on how _soft_ his facial features are whenever he rereads Sansa’s more private letters.

There, she tells him of her yearns in reuniting with him, of seeing him happy with her family because she know show miserable he is in the South. _Snow belongs in winter, my love. Won’t you return to us, to me? Arya has decreed you part of our family and a pack of wolves are stronger than the lone wolf._ She writes and writes about her days with her friends, the odd development between Theon and Jeyne.

The interviewer laughs. “Ah yes, Sansa has always been like that. Did she tell you she loves lemon cakes? She probably didn’t but she does. She looks exactly like Cat when she sees an entire tray of it!” He exclaimed.

“You know Sansa?” Aegon didn’t mean to sound so incredulous that Daenerys frowned. But a sudden urge to demand how and why this creepy man surges in his chest.

“I’m a childhood friend of Sansa’s mother. I visit them often. Here, I have a photo of them.” He fishes out his wallet. Oddly, the pristine photo only has Catelyn and Sansa. She has only seen Mrs Stark that happy with her children or Mr Stark. He nearly grabbed the photo and keep it for himself, to constantly reminded himself of Sansa’s beauty and grace. Alas, his poor sketches of her don’t hold a flame to the real thing.

“She’s pretty.” He muttered. There’s a voice in his head suggesting wrongness in this situation but he doesn’t dare voice it. His Aunt wouldn’t want a potent chance to be spoiled.

"She's so beautiful, Aegon. Some say she's the most beautiful girl in the North." Petyr gently corrected with an alarmingly tender voice.

 _Keep your eyes away from her._ He wanted to snarl but bit back and showed none of his impulsive irritation and only apathy.

“Is it true you reported to your guidance counsellor, wanting to quit the program before it even start but after you learned Sansa would be your partner?” Petyr baited with a ghosting smirk. He held his pen in the air and Aegon wanted to ram it into his eye for displaying peculiar behaviours towards Sansa.

In the corner of his eyes, he saw Daenerys shift and cross her leg, clearly trying to reign herself in.

“I, I didn’t want to make Sansa uncomfortable or obligated to write to me.”

“And _why_ is that?”

_Oh it’s simple actually. I’ve been crushing on her since I was eight. I didn’t want to lie to her because you know; I’m in love with her._

“History.”

The journalist dryly laughs. “Honourable, a rare thing found in young men like you Mr Targaryen.” He mused.

Aegon saw Varys exit the living room and came back with stacks of letters. His spine went rigid and his hands were clammy with sweat. _Sansa’s letters have arrived._ He inwardly cursed this slimy man in a suit, for extending the interview as he chatted about things he isn’t even listening to. A cold sweat dripped down his neck as Varys scanned through each envelope and he knew hers would be at the bottom.

“Let’s have some lunch?” Aegon blurted, surprising the adults in the room. He released a nervous laugh and patted his stomach. “I’m quite famished and look it’s lunch time. Would you stay with us, Mr Baelish?”

Petyr nods. “Of course, it would be my pleasure.”

Thankfully, Varys places the mail by the table as Daenerys plays the perfect host and babbles on about her decorator and leads everyone to the dining room. He walks up to it and found the envelope, slipping it inside his pocket and joined the rest.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Hours later, Aegon had his back against the wooden headboard of the bed, carved in the likes of a dragon, and the newest letters scattered around him. Usually, he’s quite delighted in Sansa’s news of her life, of how Jeyne taught her a new hairstyle. But this time, there were tears running down his face and he _hated_ it.

Aside from Sansa’s sweet letters, there were also letters from the Stark siblings even Theon joined in. Their evident longing for his presence, how the months went without him were noticeably dull.

 _Come back, will ya mate? Robb is getting too cocky with his fencing and I need someone to teach him humility._ Theon had written in loose loops but a fondness is felt in between the lines. He complained on how jokes and pranks aren’t as fun when he was the only one planning it and Robb always being his victim. _See that’s why in most movies there are three best friends; the dynamic is perfectly distributed among the handome lots like us! Your arse better come back here, egg. And yes we have collectively agreed to call you “egg” until you either show up here or have earned our forgiveness, I mean we understand and forgive. We miss you, you bloody Southron._

Arya had been an entirely different story. For three whole paragraphs, she has cursed him by the old gods and new, including the Seven, and threatened to punch his face and kick him when he’ll return. But towards the end, her anger faded and gave away to her true feelings. _You’ll come here again right? Well if you don’t, Sansa told me the address and I’ll make sure to knock the door down and kick your face. I’ve been learning martial arts!_

Robb’s was a more sombre and heartfelt letter. He elaborated his initial confusion of Aegon’s absence and assumed his best friend didn’t care about them enough to write a more personal explanation.

_I’m quite relieved to know you’re only held hostage by your strict aunt. And here I thought you didn’t love us! Scramble egg, I have to be honest, even though we manage to cope without you here; we’ll always miss your frowns and scowls. You’re one of my best friends and you bet your pretty curls my entire family (yes and Theon he’ll fit himself in my luggage) will storm up to your house. I don’t give a damn about your aunt because I care about you and ancient bad blood be damned. The feud between Starks and Targaryen is nothing but for textbooks and past._

By the end of the letters, Aegon is curled into a ball, quietly sobbing into his knees because of how conflicted and lonely he is. He curls his hands on his pyjama bottoms and sobs, wanting to release his emotions in some way.

How can he go back when he _has_ to say here with his aunt and for his future she has been moulding since she held him? How can she follow his heart’s whim when honour, the right thing, demands him to stay put?

An hour later, he writes his response, specifically to each other siblings and wrote until his hand and wrist ached the next morning. His fingers were red and dotted with ink. He entered the mansion and went towards the telephone resting on a table. He dialed a number and waited for a ring until a maid answered.

"I would like to ask for Samwell Tarly." Aegon whispers his request into the telephone. Minutes later there were feet shuffles and the familiar huff of breath.

Aegon?

"Sam, the plan will be executed." He said in a rush of determination and firmness in tone. Glancing around, there was nobody. "I'll book the tickets and you practice not fainting when you'll lie to your former general of a father."

_He's a five star bloody general, Aegon I don't want to die by his hand!_

"Then ask Dickon to help you. You've met my Aunt and she'll know if you're lying about my whereabouts." Aegon protested, having going through the plan he and Sansa created and mastered.

_How about I go with you?_

Aegon blinked in utter surprise. For all the time they have settled with the plan, not once has Sam expressed a want to join him. "You're serious?" 

_Yes! I would like to meet Gilly and Dickon is a much better liar than I am, with sneaking out to parties and such. We can stay at Horn Hill for a night or even less than that and we'll get a connected flight to Winterfell._

Aegon calculated the hours and price in his head with taps of his foot. "Wouldn't my aunt notice I suddenly booked another flight to a place she forbade me to go?" 

Sam bellows a laughter. _You idiot, we're taking up cartography remember?  Since I have a driver's license, I'll drive and you'll direct me. We are on a quest for true love and possibly be disowned by our strict families. It's an adventure of a lifetime!_

He grinned. "Sam, you genius!" They chatted for a while until he excused himself and ambled to the dining room. 

“Where have you been?” Daenerys questioned as she sits at the head of the table.

Aegon has been taught to conceal his true emotions at a very young age. Vulnerability and someone else knowing his weakness is as deadly as handing them a gun as they have taught him over and over again. “I went for a walk around the estate. It’s a nice morning.” He answers without as much as a twinge of guilt in his nerves.

“Well sit down, Aegon, there’s French toast, bacon and scrambled eggs.” Daenerys said and motion to the miniature feast stretched on the dinner table. She fetched the morning newspaper from the maid and smiled. “Oh, love look you’re front page!” She exclaims in glee.

 _Are you happy for me or for our family?_ He wanted to ask but instead filled his glass with orange juice.

 


	8. Santa Dropped You Off?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this chapter fell a bit flat, i have school to attend to so yes so sorry my dudes

Christmas break is what everyone, staff and student alike, needed after months of gruesome works in terms of exams, quizzes, book reports and such. Sansa made promises to chat with her friends even when they’re at their homes, similar to how they talk on the weekends when Sansa go home. Except now, Jeyne and Beth know about Jon. As expected, her best friends screamed in delight and she feared they would bring in Miss Mordane out of suspicious of the noise.

They asked a million questions and she and Gilly tried to answer or rather, to attempt in matching with their enthusiasm. _We’re all fools for love, I see._ She muses as she sees the awed expressions and little sighs as she tells them of what he writes, of how he writes so sweetly her heart knows no one else more affectionate.

“Tell us when he arrives okay? I would love to see the boy who makes our Sansa bloom so!” Jeyne says and mockingly narrows her eyes. She kisses their cheeks in the same breath. All of them bundled up in their usual winter clothing.

Beth bobs her head. “We _have_ to know everything about your reunion. Well not maybe everything!” She teases and pinches Sansa’s hip making her blush even harder. “Girls, we shall emerge in the new year as women and not as silly girls.”

“You saying you’ll lose your virginity by then?” Gilly deadpanned with an arched brow, making the girls laugh.

“Ah, I’ll tell you laides when I do!” Beth giggled and waved her hand about.

“When? Beth has gone promiscuous!” Jeyne gasped in farce shock.

Their bags are set on their feet and eventually they parted ways with waves and flying kisses with sprinkled in laughter. Robb came in the room and helped her with her bags. They’re all neatly packed, both the people and their luggage in the large family SUV.

Their mother greeted them warmly, she kissed the tops of their heads quite tenderly and hugged them with sincerity. Rickon came down from his play room to greet them then bid Bran, his other older brother, to play outside. Robb had to join in _and_ Arya. Sansa couldn’t oppose the youngest Stark so they threw snowballs at each other like the day won’t ever end.  Dinner was served with warm food and warmer company. Her family seated around the long mahogany table, talking and laughing.

“No Greyjoy this year?” Father asked as he gave a generous ladle full of steam vegetables to Arya.

The youngest daughter scowled and her mouth twitched as though she has the intention to snarl like a pup.

Robb, wolfing down his dinner like he has never eaten in his life, shrugged. “He’s at his dad’s. But he promises to come over at Christmas day as soon as his and I quote “ancient squid” give him his lousy present.” He answered after drinking his glass of water.

The night went on until everyone went to their own rooms. Sansa was about to retire when the telephone rang. She scanned the empty living room and frowned, eyebrows scrunching in effort. _Odd, who would call nine in the evening?_ She speculated as she approached the beeping machine. Sitting down on the sofa, she picked it up. “Hello,, Stark’s residence, Sansa is speaking.”

_Oh thank gods, I thought your parents would pick this up._

Her spine turned rigid and her gasp is barely contained. From the years of getting bits and pieces of his voice, now that it’s directed to her, she’s rendered near speechless. “Jo-Jon?” She stuttered out, her free hand blanching at the force of how she grips the sofa’s arm. “Is this really you?”

He chuckles at the other line. _Yes, sweet girl. I know we agreed not to call each other because long distance calls would appear suspicious. But I’m not in King’s Landing right now._

Her heart roared in her ears, beating in victory in what she _hopes_ is what she’s thinking, her dream transcending into reality. “You’re not? Where are you right now?” The front of her teeth worried on her bottom lip.

_Sam, where are we again?_

_Oi, you’re the one with the map. We’re at White Harbour you idiot!_

Jon laughed heartily. _Sam and I are at White Harbour so it’ll take two or three days before we arrive at Winterfell._ He said her hometown with tantalizing tenderness her heart fluttered.

“Tell me everything.” She demanded with farce sternness. Folding her legs beneath her, she leaned against the sofa, staring at the cold fireplace not so far from her.

 _We ate dinner at Sam’s house well technically it was a freaking estate. He told his parents we’d be going on a road trip for the break. Sam’s mom cried in joy, his dad looked so relieved, and his siblings were happy he has at least one friend. We borrowed Dickon’s Jeep and now we’re at an inn for the night._ He explained. In the background, she could hear Jon’s friend talking to the receptionist about things she couldn’t quite understand.

“Please, please, be safe okay? What did you eat for dinner?” Briefly, she felt guilty that she dined on Mother’s home cooked specialty meanwhile Jon probably ate at some run down establishment situated beside the dirt road.

 _Oh Mrs. Tarly made us sandwiches._ His next words were interrupted with a yawn and his feet shuffling on the probably wooden flooring.

“You’re tired.” Sansa fretted and lightly scolded in the same eerier similarity as Mother’s caring tone.

_Nothing to worry about, I swear._

“Horn Hill to White Harbour must’ve taken two days on the road. You’re dirty and exhausted, Jon.” Sansa huffs, her eyebrows furrowing because her voice is blatantly conveying her concern for him. _I’m acting like Jeyne whenever Theon is gross and sweaty after football practices._ And oddly enough, it was a pleasant thought instead of an embarrassing one.

 _We slept in the car actually. Oh uh, don’t tell the others I’m so near okay? I want it to be a surprise!_ He sheepishly admitted. Sam called his name and he shouted in agreement. _Baby, they found us a room. I have to go. I’ll see you when we arrive there. Bye, I love you._

The line went dead and Sansa’s mind is replaying what she heard. “I-I love you too.” She replied a few seconds too late.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Mom, may I have the permission to throw the newly bought carton of milk at Sansa.”

“Wha-Permission _denied,_ Arya.”

The brunette scoffs and points her spoon at the younger redhead. “You have no business being so cheerful in the morning. It’s not even noon yet! She devil.” She growls but anyone could hear the underlying fondness people would assume isn’t there.

Sansa rolled her eyes. In truth, she felt like _nothing_ could dampen her mood. Jon’s coming home! How else would she react? And he absentmindedly confessed his love for her. A smile curls her lips just at the thought of it.

“There it is again! She’s so _happy_ meanwhile I had to listen Bran and Rickon argue about whatever in the Seven that game was.” Arya whined and swirled her poon in her cereal.

“It’s Christmas, Arya.” Robb reminded them.

“Obviously, you’re wearing the Christmas Sweater.” Bran observed as he motioned at the blaringly red (crimson really, as Mother specified) with decorations of the conventional snowflakes, a distant decorated pine tree, and the initial of his first name sewed on the area his heart. Aside from the actual gifts, their mother enjoyed knitting them all ridiculously colourful sweaters each year. None minded because it kept them warm in this winter.

Their father entered the kitchen and all greeted them. He handed his wife a package. “It’s from Baelish.” The sound slithered out of his gritted teeth. He then went to the sink to fill his mug of coffee.

Catelyn opened the package and she softened. Sansa tried to not let the shudder of disgust be too obvious. “Oh, Sansa darling look, you’re on the front page!” She cooed and proudly showed them the article that featured her and the blasted pen pal program.

Each of her siblings took their turn in reading the article with civil interest. Robb’s eyes widened. “Is that Jon?” He said, head snapping up around his clueless family for confirmation. “It is! Gods, but look at his gelled up hair!” He tossed the paper to Arya and they both burst out in laughter.

 _I think he looks handsome_. Sansa thought in innate defence but kept it to herself; the others would find it peculiar she’d reprimand them about a topic they thinks he doesn’t care.

“That must be Daenerys Targaryen, her aunt.” Bran stated as he tapped the little blonde woman at the journalist’s right side.

“Gross.” Robb and Arya said in chorus, ignoring their mother’s sharp stare.

“The Mockingbird? That’s not a thing I’ve heard before.”Arya pointed out in confusion, handing Sansa the folded up newspaper.

“His branches don’t stretch this far up in the North, sweetling.” Catelyn answered for her childhood friend.

She recalled the interview, it was supposed to last an hour at most, right after her cheerleading practice but she made time to change. It overextended in what felt like a century for her, of him asking her questions she _knows_ isn’t related to the subject at hand. Plus, the creepy stares he gives her could make her skin crawl if that was possible.

/\/\/\/\/\/\

Theon arrived two days later, with a duffle bag on his shoulder and a warm smile. He went to Robb’s room after cordially greeting the rest of the Starks.

During lunch, Theon is storytelling the time he and his older sister, Asha, nearly had a fist fight with his uncle. As the story inclined to its violence, Mother cuts it short with an icy stare. “Rickon is only a boy, Theon. He shouldn’t hear such vulgarities and there are ladies in the house.” She chided the Greyjoy.

“Sorry, ma’am.” He said with a chagrin smile.

Arya shifted on her chair. "You can tell me, Theon. I'm not a lady like Sansa or Mother." She vowed because besides Robb, she's the only one who was genuinely listening.

There was a knock on the door. Everyone stared at each other. Sansa wanted to jump out of her seat.

“Honey, did you invite someone today?” Father nonchalantly asked. It was well known how welcoming and how much she adores being a host to parties.

Yet the redhead shook her head. “No, Ned, I didn’t it. Sansa, be a dear and see who it is.” She wasn’t even finished when Sansa raced out of the dining room.

Wrenching the door open with surprising strength, there, in front of her, is Jon. They stared at each other in what could’ve been lifetimes. She drank in his ragged form, layers of jackets and coats with a wrinkled shirt. His hair is longer, bounded behind his head, and he has a beard, not much so but suitable for his face. Though it was obvious he was tired, his smile is sweetly bright.

“Sansa.” He breathes like a secretive prayer.

She launched herself to his opened arms and without even thinking about it, he helped her in wrapping her legs around his waist. They both laughed as he struggled to stand up properly. She dug her face on his shoulder, their arms tightening on each other. “Jon, you’re here. You’re really here.” She says in the same fragile tone.

Jon slowly pulled away and they’re both flushed pink. “Hi.” He says, his face so close to hers the warmth of his breath tickled her cheeks.

“Hello.” Sansa greeted. “I-I’m sorry I did that. I was just so happy to see you.” She hops down on her feet again, blushing madly that she thinks the snow will melt by the heat of her face.

“It’s not a problem. I-It feels nice to be welcomed.” He assures her in that calming tone. His hand cups her cheek, clothed thumb brushing on her soft skin.

“And I’m Samwell Tarly.” A disembodied voice speaks.

She didn’t even _notice_ there was another boy on her front porch, much to her chagrin. “Sam, right? Hello, nice to meet you.” They both shake hands.

“Sans, what’s taking so long? Did you get lo-lost…” Robb’s taunt died on his tongue as he sees Jon and Sam flanked on Sansa’s side. He blinked, staring at his fidgeting best friend. “Jon?”

“ _What?”_ Arya and Theon screeched and their chairs skidded on the floor. They raced to the living room to see the peculiar image.

“Hi, guys.” Jon shakily announced his presence.

Arya took a step forward, her mouth in a hard frown. “You, you left us and now you’re back?” She spits out and the boys are behind her. “You could’ve told us everything! No you had to make Sansa do it for you.”

Everyone was staring at Jon now. Discreetly, Sansa brushed her knuckles against his and nodded towards her siblings with encouragement.

“It wasn’t that simple-“

“Oh, save that nonsense!” Robb intervened in fury. His jaw is ticking and his eyes of blue hardened like ice. He added into the piles of confession, of truth and pain rolled in one.

Theon nodded. “And here we thought you were our best friend, Jonathan. You didn’t even try to reach out to us.”

 Arya now stood in front of Jon, head tilted up, and then wrapped her arms around Jon’s midriff. She buried her face on his shirt, hands fisting on his coat. “We _missed_ you, you big lump.” She said, though her voice was muffled it was loud and the boys relaxed.

“I missed you guys too, more than I can put into words.” Jon admits, hugging Arya and dropping a kiss on her head.

Theon and Robb approached him and each gave him a bone crushing hug and hard pats on the back. The tension is gone now, and is replaced with softening expressions, and genuine smiles. Bran hugged him as well as Rickon, the energetic little boy bouncing in Jon’s arms and squealing in delight.

Arya, Robb, and Theon briefly glanced at each other before simultaneously threw a swift punch to Jon’s stomach. The dark haired boy groaned in pain and his knees buckled.

“Jon!” Sansa shrieks as she hurries over to his side, his arm draping on her shoulders and he pulls her closer. “You should sit down.”

Jon only grunted in pain, wincing with every step. He flopped down on the sofa and places a pillow on his stomach. “I guess I deserve that.”

“No you do deserve that.” Theon insisted.

“Let me get you some ice, okay? Are you and Sam hungry? We were just having lunch.” Sansa tells him, her fingers running down his face and scrapes the edge of his jaw. While she gazes at Jon with _such_ worry, she didn’t notice the curious looks her siblings and Theon had on their faces.

“I’d like some lunch if that’s alright.” Sam piped in.

“Oh, who’s this?” Robb asked Jon as they all scrutinized Sam.

The chubby brunette shakily smiled. “I-I’m Samwell Tarly but you can call me Sam. I helped him in getting here.” He explains himself.

Theon whistles as he gazes out the window. “With that beauty outside? I _have_ to check that out!”

The eldest Stark rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, mate I’ll keep him in check.” He promises and follows his other best friend out the door.

“Let’s go boys. I still have my eye on the beef stew.” Arya said, motioning to the kitchen where their parents ate, letting the kids have their fun in the reunions. She eyed them with suspicion that she luckily didn’t act on.

They’re now alone in the living room.

There were so many things they both wanted to say, to talk about, to just _be_ with each other that they didn’t know where to begin. But as Jon formulated a feeble plan, his stomach grumbled. He blushed as Sansa giggled. “We ate chips for breakfast.”

Sansa stood up, offering her hand and he’ll take whatever he has to give. “You should eat. Come on, love.” She says and none of her family commented on their intertwined fingers or how they sat next to other, both shy as the Maiden.

 

 

 

 


	9. Slip of The Tongue? I'll Catch the Words with Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this could be the ending? but maybe i'll explore more of what's been revealed (if u can can endure my long ass writing and utter nonsense!) but for now, i'll close it.

They spent the remainder of the day catching up with each other’s lives, recalling sweet memories, and befriending Jon’s new best friend. No one slipped his _other_ name because it didn’t fit in the freezing region and what felt like his true name suited him far better anyways.

As usual, Rickon demanded to have a snowball fight in honor of Jon’s arrival. His face softened impossibly and quickly agreed. They split up in two teams, Robb, Theon, and Arya meanwhile Jon, Sansa, and Bran were in the other team.

Sam backed out, deciding to help Catelyn in making hot chocolate for everyone. “I don’t mind really. I always helped mum in the kitchen.” He reasoned and all but ran as soon as they accepted his reason.

“I’m glad you’re on my team.” Jon whispered to her, the excuse of being teammates encouraged him to stand so close to her.

Her gloved hands held a bundle of snow, slowly forming it into a ball of weapon to be used. “Jon, darling, there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be, by your side.” She replied. Maybe the blush on their faces was because of the cold or of things they’re too shy to truly discuss.

A ball shot at her side and she gasped. Arya cackling in the distance as her little sister gave Robb and Theon high fives. “Oh, you wretched rat!” She shrieked and threw her half-formed snowball at Theon right on his face. He staggered but held his ground with narrowed eyes and unfortunate determination.

“It’s war now!” Robb shouted as he flung the snow at Bran, throwing his head back in laughter.

And so it began; with the constant shouts, giggles, and laughter piercing the chill air, it was a sweet melody. Theon and Bran were the first ones out so they settled sitting on the steps of the porch, drinking the hot chocolates and eating the marshmallows that Sam offered them.

The teenagers ran along the vast front yard, their shoes buried in the snow but they managed to move about, being stealthy. Hiding on the wide tree trunks that had no leaves but old and twisted branches, all of them felt like holding their breaths so their supposed enemy won’t sneak up on them.

“Whatever happens, I want you to be safe alright?” Jon says in a low tone. They stood in a distance of two trees. He frantically gestured over his shoulder. “Arya is a maniac while Robb likes to strategize like its chess.”

“We’re only throwing balls at each other not fight like soldiers in war.” Sansa huffed.

“I know love but your siblings are too uh excited in this game.” He replied.

Sansa screamed as Arya jumped down from the tree she hid on and the younger Stark threw snowballs at her legs, laughing maniacally as she did. Jon briefly wondered how in the Seven did Arya become so stealthy for a loquacious girl.

“You alright, sis? Got a little something on your coat.” Arya asked with feigned concerned because of the obvious smirk on her lips.

Robb shouted a curse in the distance. Luckily, Mother wasn’t on the yard or else she would’ve reprimanded her eldest son in behaving improperly. “Jon, you twat!”

Jon opened his mouth to say some sarcastic retort but the words died on his tongue upon seeing the Stark girls go around the ancient tree so prevalent in Winterfell. There were snowflakes melting into the thick braid of her hair, swaying down her back. He would give anything up to brush it away, to kiss her pink cheeks. But he restrains himself because her family is constantly around them.

Isn’t it why he defied his aunt, to be closer to her? _So close yet so far._ He agonized with adolescent grief.

“Guess it’s you and me, Southron boy!” Arya announced, clapping her hands together in sadistic excitement and widened her feet apart in a stance.

Catelyn entered the patio with a tray of colourful mugs. She eyes the two remaining contenders of the game with an arched brow. “Come on now, that’s enough play.” She sternly says. And when Catelyn Stark orders a thing, a person with any sense of fear and respect would follow her.

The sophomore shot him a dark look, one that signalled a continuation in the game of snowball fighting. But she follows his footsteps, chattering about how she wants them all to hangout after lunch. “There’s this new café at Wintertown! They have the best pies and I know the chef’s son so we always have the best seats in the house.” She promised him with a wide grin.

Jon messes her already disarrayed hair and laughs when she does. “I’d love some pie!”

She eyes him with warmth, far more appealing than the heat he suffers in the Capital. “If anyone else messed with my hair, they’d have a black eye. Not you though, you’re family, the brother I wish I had.”

“You have _three_ brothers, Arya.”

“You’ve met them. I want our parents to disown them each time they breathe.”

“Come on, let’s get you some hot coco you loser.” Robb cooed and dropped an arm on her shoulders, leading her to where Theon, Sam, and Bran were animatedly talking.

“Sansa, did you know Sam has some of the _most_ exclusive historical books in Westeros. And they’re signed too! By the gods I would love to read them!” Bran chirped in amazement, his best friend blushing beet red.

Jon knew how Sam’s interest in books is frowned upon in a family known for their military prowess. It’s a relief to know he found a companion for his supposedly shameful hobby.

“And I’m trying to talk your bestie to let me drive the Jeep. But Bran is so inconsiderate.” Theon whined, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Didn’t you almost crash Asha’s motorcycle? You’re lucky you’re even alive.” Robb recalled with a teasing smile, patting the dismayed Greyjoy on the shoulder.

“Oi! You said _almost_ so I’m still basically responsible.” He resumed in defending his actions then smacked in lips as he took another huge gulp of the steaming drink. “’Sides, I threw myself on the tree, injuring my shoulder, and the motor _safely_ landed on the pile of snow.” He said as though it made everything better.

They all turned to Sam with discreet head shakes of disapproval.

“You Starks are always against me!” Theon cried out with a dramatic sigh.

“And that’s what you missed on tonight’s episode of Theon being a dramatic sod!” Arya shouts and everyone on the patio laughed and enjoyed how red his ears went.

When lunch time was finished, the boys offered to do the dishes mostly because in the Stark residence most of them were basically raised with unwavering honour in their blood. Ned Stark had a face that couldn’t be prouder. But Catelyn only allowed Rob and Jon to do it because Sam is a guest, whom she has taken a like, and she doesn’t trust Theon with a bubble wrapped vase.

They stood side by side, Jon’s washing the dirty dishes while Robb cleaned them dry. Both silent as death and the others are in the living room, watching television and what not.

“When will you be leaving?” Robb asked out of nowhere, eyes trained on his task.

Jon frowned, even he didn’t contemplate on his impending departure. He had enjoyed the past few days, far better than the days in King’s Landing. “I,I don’t know.” He admitted, the corner of his eyes stung at the thought of leaving them again, of probably never seeing them ever again. Even with the sense of belonging here, reality doesn’t give a damn and demands him to be leagues away from his true family, from _Sansa._

“I’m asking because I heard something from Father and it might interest you.” The vagueness in his words made him stop scrubbing at the ceramic bowl and throw a glance at his best friend. Robb eyed him in question. He nods in approval.

“Well it turns out, you’re a trust fund baby. I mean you’re dad _was_ the president of Westeros until…” Robb coughs and shrugs. “Anyways, your aunt can’t touch it until you’re like twenty-four. Apparently, your mom thought it’s the best time for a mature adult to handle the family fortune.”

Jon’s hands drop into the squared sink, his eyes staring vacantly through the widow, beyond the miles of snows and barren trees. _Does anyone really love me?_ A sobbing voice muttered, dark in the corner of his mind. He tries to ignore the pain that follows but he didn’t even notice he had his eyes clenched until Robb patted his back in comfort.

“She didn’t even tell me. Is this why she’s so adamant in keeping me under her talons?” He sharply hisses, akin to a dragon with sharpened teeth and a fire in his belly that could melt all the snow in the North.

“I don’t know your aunt Jon but I know you. You’re stubborn and disgustingly honourable, like a true Stark.” Robb chuckles at that and dimples dent the sides of his mouth. “Family is important to everyone, you know? You’re that to us. So you better not leave us again, Jon or we’ll truly make it a reality that the Starks are _really_ descendants from the people who used to control direwolves. Your aunt is a dragon, the love of gold and glory is what they are.”

“The true colour of a dragon reflects upon shining gold on their scales.” Jon recited. “I read that somewhere in the family tree I once looked up.”

Robb nods. “Ancient proverbs have some truth in them.”

“If you’re done gossiping, we’d like to go at Wintertown now…” Theon grumbled and crossed his arms.

The girls rode with Sam in his Jeep because well, they laid their best puppy eyes at him and the Tarly didn’t have a heart to deny them. Bran came along too, finding it difficult to be parted from his fellow historian in the making. Robb, Theon, and Jon used the second hand, constantly in need of repair, car that Ned gave Robb. “A man must have his own car and be responsible to fix it.” He reasoned out, outweighing the boy’s protests.

When they arrived at the café, it was already packed with people their age, even older than them. It was of humble setting, resembling a retro café with black and white tiles, currant leather seats and stools. Even a jukebox in the corner, loudly playing a tune their parents would know.

“Arry, hey!” A chubby boy with curls covering his wide forehead, came staggering, wiping his hands on his apron. He had the same uniform as the waitresses with name pin of “Hot Pie”.

“Arry?” Jon blurted out.

Arya shrugged but grinned up at her friend. “’Sup, Hot Pie? Got any room for us in your five star café? My, I’d say you’re having a field day!” She remarked gesturing to the people around them, barely noticing their presence.

The boy waved his hand in the air. “Well, of course! Anything for my bestie. Let’s go, come on you lot.” He called over his shoulder. "Gilly, be a dear and serve this to table sixteen." He instructed to the slim brunette. Aegon grinned.

"Gilly?" Sam repeated, his eyes are comically wide in wonder as he roved all over the waitress' appearance. 

"Yeah, why?"  She questioned, weighing the tray on her hands, impatient to bring the order to the customer. 

"I-I'm Sam." He confessed, his cheeks becoming two huge apples on his face. "I know I'm not dashing or anything you might've assume Southron people are but here I am." He awkwardly gestured to himself. Everyone waited for her response.

Gilly glanced at Sansa for confirmation so when the redhead nodded. She raced off to the table, nearly threw down the tray and approached them with a large bright beam on her face. "Dashing is overrated anyways. Hot Pie, mind if I take a break?" She asks, not bothering to keep his eyes off of Sam, matching his shy smile.

The boy huffs. "Yeah lunch rush and my star employee takes a break. Brilliant but whatever fine. Come on, Arry and friends." He says. 

As their friends went forward, Jon pulled back until he’s beside Sansa. Nothing suspicious at _all,_ just his knuckles brushing against hers and a quick survey to his right (where she happens to be, a coincidence said no one) and is gifted with the sight of Sansa’s plush pink mouth curved.

“Sansa?”

They paused, her siblings and his friends leaving them and they’re separated.

“Oh, hello Harry.” Sansa stiffly greets the blonde smirking idiot.

Even form a mile, Jon can observe her nervous behaviour. Her small hands trace the wooden buttons of her navy cardigan, how her face slipping into a scarily blank emotion that he _knows_ it’s to cope with the stress. To be more specific, the boy with searching eyes all over her form.

“Nice to see you out of the boring school uniform.” Harry says, his words were coated in honey, and his intent so clear that Jon grits his teeth. He doesn’t seem to notice how he’s unwanted by the pair. Or he’s so in his narrowed view of a lost battle, he doesn’t notice the subtle glares the couple (well they basically are at this point) threw at his feet.

“It’s vacation time, _Harry._ Sansa has a wardrobe I could get lost in it.” Jon commented in a breeze. And to add more effect, he gives her an adoring beam to which she returned with much affection.  _And I've seen her with itty bitty shorts and overlarge shirts._ _You haven't so maybe fuck off._

He eyes them and nervously licks his lips. “Is this your cousin, Sans?-”

“-Don’t call her Sans.” Jon grits out with almost a growl that he surprised the junior.

She lays her hand on his wrist, cold clammy hands digging into his flesh. He wishes all her pain is his to bear so she wouldn’t know an ounce of the cruelty their world offers. “This is Jon.” She answers, swift and firm. “And it’s nice to see you.” She says _nice_ like it’s the worst word in existence.

“I do hope we can hang out sometime, Sans-Sansa.” Harry implores, trekking on the landmine with a fool’s hope blinding him.

 _I think you won’t._ He thought with a savagery that would've startled him with any other person.

“Christmas is for family, Harry.” Sansa replies with a sweetness that it took the blonde a couple of moments to fully grasp her meaning.

The blonde is _relentless._ Jon wants to steer Sansa away from his wandering eyes, from his pink tongue that creates words for girls to love him but he won’t love them _back._ He exudes that sort of attitude.

“When we return for classes then?”

“Don’t you know Sansa at all? Oh wait you don’t. So let me spell it out for you; she only has time for her family and studies. No time for the lot of _you_.” Jon calmly, well in his state of mind but the boy takes offense, rebuffs.

Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “Who the hell are you anyways? Her father?” He spits back and his fists clench. “What, will you take her home now? Is it her curfew now?”

“I’m her _boyfriend_ , you thick headed moron.” He answers back, squaring his shoulders and though Harry is taller, Jon makes up for his love for her.

Sansa tugs his wrist, her palm slick with sweat. “Let’s go, Jon. Harry, try the meat pie, there’s beef if you want it here.” She answers and with a strength, she manages to pull him away.

Their friends stare at them with worried expressions; both at how blanched Sansa is and how Jon is not a master of hiding his rage, seething underneath his skin.

His mind replayed his words and he swallows. “Sansa, I-I didn’t mean to pretend to be your boyfriend. I’m so sorry I acted like a bull back there. You were worrying me and-“

“-Don’t be any dumber, of course you’re my boyfriend, my love.” Sansa giggles, her fingers going lower until their fingers are interlaced. “I love you, Jon.”

His heart is lifted the moment he hears those words. A smile breaks out of his face, dimples curving on the sides of his mouth and he tugs her closer. “I love you too, sweet girl.” He whispers into her ear and kisses her cheek.

“You told Hardyng off?” Theon guessed as they slid on the booth. It gave them the perfect vantage point of what had happened.

Jon nodded. “What did you order for us?” He asked Robb, who was staring at him with a weird expression. Now that he thinks of it, Sansa’s siblings are acting weirder than usual. Bran looks somewhat smug, Robb looks as though Jon’s face is a puzzle and he’s trying to solve it, and Arya is stabbing a toothpick into a napkin already filled with holes.

“Us? You mean for you and your girlfriend, who happens to be my sister.” Arya deadpans with an expectant tone.

As expected, their faces reddened but Jon squeezes her hand and placed their joined hands on the table. Everyone but Bran groans in disgust. “You can read lips now?” He speculated.

“No, I told them you guys are an item.” Bran explained as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Sansa tilts her head to one side. “How on Earth did you figure that out right now?

“I got a telescope from Uncle Ben, remember? An exploits from his travels and I always go up on the roof to examine the morning stars and the sun rise.” Bran slowly says and a proud smile breaks off his usual stoic face. “And I see you, Sansa, waiting at the front porch for the mailman. I wondered why but then I see you read Jon’s journal like it was your favourite book. Then you have the same smile Mother has whenever Father enters the room. It wasn’t _that_ hard to figure out.”

Sam frowns in genuine confusion. “Wait, you guys didn’t know? Or right you don’t live with him in our dorms. It’s all he talks about. ‘Sansa told me this’ ‘Sansa would love that’.” He complains.

“Now this is cheesier than any of the rom coms she likes.” Arya commented but she smiles all the same. “Don’t worry, we’re all happy for you guys and all that stuff.”

“It’s unexpected that’s for _sure_ but we idiots gotta stay together!” Theon roared, lifting his fist in the air.

Jon glances at his girlfriend, _his girlfriend,_ he repeated in muted amazement. “Wow, holy shit, Sansa, I love you.”

Their friends groaned but Sansa’s heartwarming smile made his insides melt.

“I love you too.” She replies.

“Oh my _gods!_ Hot Pie, you better serve our orders or I’ll stab my ears!” Arya demanded with a shout.

Gilly giggles. "I can update our orders if y'all would like that. I am on my break!" She says, shyly glancing at Sam, who was shamelessly staring at her with obvious heart eyes.

Theon nodded, finishing his glass of water. "You'd be an angel if you did that, love!"

Robb blinked at them the affectionate couple at his side. “Wolves really stay together.” He muttered in quiet amazement.

“Don’t start making out here. This is the sacred booth, Jonathan.” Theon warns with a saucy smirk.


	10. Love Fills the Distance

Everything is packed in the Jeep. Sam is waiting at the driver’s seat, fingers drumming against the smooth leather stirring wheel and most likely listening to the classical music that Aegon would switch for more pop songs he prefers.

He stood in front of the Stark family, trying so _hard_ not to breakdown and sob like he watched an emotional dog centric movie. But he sniffles ever so slightly and everyone knew anyways.

“I’ll miss you guys.” His voice is soft as the snow around them, curling on their ankles, and melting into their hairs. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans so they wouldn’t see how he trembles at the reality of the separation.

“We won’t.” Arya answers with a casual tone.

Aegon’s heart sinks into the pit of his stomach.

Robb rolls his eyes. “You _idiot,_ we can mail each other letters and don’t forget long distance phone calls! It’ll feel like there’s no distance at all.” He elaborates and the eldest Stark pulls his best friend in a bone crushing hug. “Remember what I told you. Family is sacred to us.” He whispers before patting his shoulder one last time. He gives way to Arya and Theon giving him tight hugs, nearly suffocating Aegon with sentimentality.

Bran and Rickon were much more considerate. Bran gave him a book about space and a map of constellation stars, the precise region and times they would appear. When Aegon asked him why this specific present, the boy with large hickory eyes merely blinked and titled his head as though the answer was too obvious already.

“Back in the day before the compass or anything advanced, stars always guide people home. I know that’s how you feel about Winterfell and I want you to know we’re here for you because we’re a family.” The young boy says in utter sincerity that Aegon felt like crying again.

When Sansa came forward, he opened his mouth to say something, most like the dumbest thing to say in such a fragile situation. His girlfriend rushes forward, legs tight around his torso, head buried into the curve of his shoulder, and her hands clutch at the curls on his neck almost as though she intends to rip a few hairs out. But he doesn’t care and reciprocates the embrace tighter, his nose tracing the space behind her ear.

“I-I’ll miss you, darling. I _swear_ I’ll find a way to visit you. I-I don’t care about anyone else but _you_.” Her voice trembles, similar to her arms and he has no choice but to hold her even tighter because he fears of letting her go.

“I know, baby, I know. I love you too.” He pulls away an inch and their noses brush, winter breaths mingling and brushing chillingly against their cheeks. “Distance is nothing to us, yeah? It’ll always be us, no one else.” The words felt like a vow, like a pledge a knight would declare to the one he would offer his life to.

Her azure blue eyes are watery and when she blinks, crystalline like tears dotted her face. Her pink lips are frowning in an adoring manner he couldn’t resist in kissing her. The sensations never felt real to him, only like a moving and realistic dream. In the way she’s innately responsive and pliant in his arms, how her body heat can be felt through layers of clothes will always fascinate him to no end.

He brought his arms more around her waist so bring her closer, their mouths widening so their tongues can slide against one another in a silken dance. They both pointedly ignore how their friends were making fake gagging noises.

“Um, I’d hate to intrude my best friend making out with my sister but I advise you guys to stop that before Father and Mother enters the scene!” Arya screeched then high fived Theon who guffaws at the now reddened face of Aegon.

He lets Sansa stand on her own two feet, her cheeks ablaze with heat, her blue eyes now twinkling, and she wore a shyer grin than he is. “What can I do, Arya? Your sister is gorgeous and damn irresistible.” He says as his thumb swipes underneath her chin and he kissed her forehead.

Robb shook his head. “Uh huh, fuck no shut up, Snow. I approve of your happiness but don’t _show_ it to us, gods.” He said in a disgusted tone.

A tall redhead pushed through her children and held out a bag. “Here you go, Aeg-Jon. It’s for the trip because Arya mentioned how you both ate at gas stations and lived on junk foods. And that won’t do!” She frets and patted his shoulder. “Be safe, okay?”

Ned steps forward and pats his shoulder. “Drive carefully. The road isn’t always safe.” He sternly warns with a fatherly tone.”

Aegon was a genuine lost here. Not once in the past years has Catelyn outwardly been caring towards him or Theon, he isn’t sure of the reason exactly but now there’s practically no answer to her peculiar behaviour now. “Th-Thank you, Mrs Stark and Mr Stark.” He stutters out.

The lawyer smiles warmly now, more than she has ever been. “Anything for my daughter’s boyfriend.” She nonchalantly says.

“What?” Ned and Aegon said in unison that Catelyn giggled and rolled her eyes.

“Mum, how did you know?” Sansa asked, bewildered and slightly scared of how her mother knows.

“You’re so happy with him. Plus he wears this adorable puppy look your father has when we were young! Oh safe journey, love.” Catelyn says to Aegon and walks back to the house, roping in the rest of her kids and Theon for the promise of hot chocolate.

Ned stayed behind, regarding Aegon with a smile and a warm expression that told him to relax. And Ned Stark certainly wasn’t going to break his limbs for fancying Sansa. “I’m glad you’re the one my daughter chose. I can sleep well tonight.” He says with a parting pat on the back and follows his family.

Sansa inches forward and kisses him on the mouth, sweet and fleeting. “I love you.” She says it again and again and he knows he’ll never tire by the sound of it.

“And I love you too. I’ll be back, don’t you worry.” Aegon promises with every ounce of love that he has for her. There is no other choice because not coming back to all of this, to _her_ , he might as well not live.

With that, he enters the car and the last thing he sees are the great Stark manor and the love of his life waving at him.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

When the second semester rolled in, so did the waves upon waves of stress and Aegon felt as though he was drowning but he didn’t let  it drown him, fill his lungs. He has Sam, his best friend, and the Starks and more importantly Sansa is his _girlfriend._ Every time he thinks of it, his mouth stretches into a fond grin. Usually when he isn’t neck deep in studies or participating in sports, he would take out a photo of Sansa; her red hair messily sprawled on her shoulders and she’s caught in mid laughter.

Gods, did he love this girl.

Now, leagues away from her and distance doesn’t mean a thing to these young lovers. They would often have phone calls that extend the allotted time for each student, the guards often nudge him away from the phone booth because some mother is concerned for their son.

Anyone passing by, witnessing his laughs and all too soft fond expression would immediately he has someone special in his life. And they were right, he’s quite and utterly in love that’s almost too sugary sweet. His stoic image has all but melted away into thin air and now people have commented on how “smiley” he has been lately since he returned from the break.

A slam of stacked books against a table nearly made Aegon squeak. But he merely throws a glower at Sam. “I’m inclined to think you do that on purpose, Tarly.” He grumbles.

“Sue me.” Sam laughs. “I’m trying to be a good friend and pull you out of your thoughts so you can study. And when we’ve studied, we’ll maintain the stellar grades we have so we can go to college in whatever choice our parents will plop us in. Then I become an accountant and you, the president of Westeros.” He said in one breath, not bothering to maintain eye contact with his conventionally broody friend and arranged his books according to order.

“Ah, when you say it in _such_ an optimistic tone it makes me want to run for student council.” Aegon retorted in return.

Tarly regards him seriously with a tilt of his head. “Why don’t you?”

“Why don’t I what?”

“Run for president. I am utterly sick of the dumb shite the Tyrells decree. Yes our parties are legendary but other than that we don’t have any genuinely helpful programs. You won’t be alone. I’ll be your treasurer.” Sam promises with a smile. He sits down on his leather seat and arches a brow. “What do you say? Are you ready to shake the school on its hundred years’ of foundation?”

Aegon was able to avoid further discussions about this inane notion when the guard entered their room, requesting his presence at the telephone booth. He chews on the inside of his cheek, expecting it to be Sansa. He loves to surprise her whenever he calls outside of their agreement and maybe she has the same feelings as he is.

“Hello, love.” He heartily greets his girlfriend but his excitement fades away at hearing a familiar giggle.

_Darling, I missed you too!_

He stands rigid now, fidgeting with the cufflink on his sleeve, the miniature dragon winking beneath the lights. “Hello, aunt. I-uh-sorry I was just excited.” _I thought you were Sansa. Crap._

_What are you excited about, dear?_

“Um, Sam mentioned this ridiculous idea and it’s totally insane.” He laughs in an uneasy manner. Silence stretched on and he knows it means she’s waiting for further answers. He could picture the blonde in her office, papers neatly stacked at her mahogany desk, and the sleek onyx telephone is balance don her ear and shoulder as she scans some important bill to be discussed with the senate.

“He said that I should run for student council, the bleeping presidency! I can’t do that. No one even knows me here.” _Plus, I’m a Targaryen so no one wants me to rule over them. Not like how our family has been for centuries, terrorizing people with so much power and influence._ He wanted to add that, the very core of his dislike in being so political but he knew she wouldn’t like it.

Another beat of silence before she answered. _Why that is a marvellous idea! At least try it, dear, it wouldn’t hurt. You’d be an amazing leader. Didn’t you excel at Model UN? You will be such an exemplary model! I say do it. You have my utmost support. I can help you with your campaign and such. Your parents would be so proud._

He blinked, struggling to keep the tears in his eyes and not spill on his grey jumper. Would Lyanna truly be happy for his decision? It’s a constant notion that will never have an answer. How could there be any solution to an unfinished problem? He only tries to do good because at least that, he knows his mother would’ve wanted a good son.

The following weeks flowed pass like a river’s lazy current. Sam joined Aegon in staying at his estate for the weekend, both of them brainstorming ideas for their platforms. Aunt Daenerys even took off some of her busy time to polish their plans, educating them in the games of school ground politics. She took interest in Sam but Aegon suspects it’s because of the name he carries, the power and terror it radiates but none can be found in his best friend.

With his busy schedule, Aegon found it even more of a need to have contact with Sansa. He wrote and wrote to her, pages upon pages of his letters. But no response came to the mansion, not even a phone call at home or at school. He tired to not let it bother him, rationalizing it by her busy schedule as well.

 _Maybe it’s exams week._ He told himself one night, as his physics book is open, a calculator a this side and his pen is furiously tapping against the problem he’s been staring at for a good half an hour.

Sam is on the other side of the room, skimming through his notes while muttering the different formulas they both needed to memorize. “It feels like exam week too. And this term only started.” He chuckled.

Aegon whirled around, his leg bouncing and his hand combed through his messy curls. “Sansa hasn’t called me in forever. She hasn’t written to me even when I wrote a _lot_ to her. Why could she be ignoring me?” He blurted out, cringing at how desperate he sounded.

His roommate rolled his eyes. “She has a life outside of you, you know.”

“I know that! Why couldn’t she spare me a few seconds of her time. I mean for gods’ sake she doesn’t pick up when I bloody call her.” He grunts. There is a healthy amount of panic in his veins as it is but saying it out loud made his worries more concrete. And it doesn’t help him at all.

“I don’t know, mate, I’m not her.” Sam gently says. “Maybe she needs space. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all. I mean not that my dad can attest to that!” He laughs at his own joke then presumes in scanning a thick and old history book.

“Distance, right.” He repeated in a mantra until it eased away his anxiety. He focused on his studies more vigorously for it’s the only way to ignore the worry of his troubles.

It’s been almost three months since he’s heard from Sansa. At this point, it’s a shout to an empty cave, how it echoes deep in his lonely shell. It saddens him to know how Sansa hasn’t bothered to keep her end of the bargain. She doesn’t even call him anymore!

But Aegon didn’t let it bother him too much when he’s up and running with Sam and their campaign. His studies demand most of his time as well so he couldn’t sulk and whine about his deteriorating relationship with the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. During the day, he is a brilliant student and his intention to run for the council is gaining more and more attention at how careful he is of his image. He distances himself away from the infamous notions of his family and focuses more on his own abilities, on how he could _try_ and make their school a better and more welcoming place to be in.

At night when nothing occurs, he dreams of Sansa. In these times of false security, she is always in his arms, lavender sweetly invading his sense, her fiery locks are so silky and soft against his skin. He kisses her until it feels as natural as breathing. “I love you” is what they _always_ say to each other.

Right after he wakes up in cold sweat due to his alarm. He always finds himself on his medium sized bed, with silk sheets tangling on his legs, and he could hear Sam snoring beside him. But Sansa is never curled up at his side, unlike his dreams would have him believe. It’s utterly madness.

He still visits the mansion weekly. Not because he secretly writes to his girlfriend but because he and Sam use the tranquillity as an escape from school and they study and hangout. They sometimes walk around the estate when they read too much in a day and Daenerys promises snacks when they return.

Aegon gives up writing letters to Sansa by the fourth month. Though it hurt to love a girl who doesn’t love him back, he just understands instead. _The distance alone would make us feel lonely. It wasn’t realistic._ He once told Sam though he tried to keep his voice casual, to not let it wobble and for the tears to run down his cheeks.

Sam patted his back and gave him a comforting smile. “You guys were in love I saw that but you can’t be hung up on her. You have your future ahead of you. And nearer than that, your debate with Loras so we _have_ to ready you!” He says in the gentlest tone Aegon has heard him say.

He’s profoundly thankful for having a friend like Sam in these times of trouble.

_Why did I even think I was ready for love?_

He briefly wondered if this is how his mother felt when she was with his father. Recklessly lost in these wondrous feelings they took no account of reality, the inevitable crash in their highs.

In love, Aegon has felt even more connected with his mother.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Later that evening, when the boys raced up the stairs, their laughter echoing it the empty halls, she smiles, delighted at his uplifted condition despite the unsaid struggles he has been facing lately. _I'm doing this for you, Aegon. It's for the best in the long run. You'll probably thank me, not that you'll ever find out._ Daenerys is seated on her golden vintage chair, in front of the fire. A wool blanket is spread down on her legs and it touches the floor. She places her cup of tea down on a table near her when Varys enters the room.

“Young love is a powerful thing to blind the youth, madam.” Her secretary said and handed her a stack of letters, with a silk navy tie binding them together. It wasn't difficult to intercept the arrival of letters, with the blonde's reputation and influence, and how reasonable her employees can be if the situation demands for it. 

She softly laughs. “But my nephew has an iron will like a dragon. He snapped out of it earlier than expected.” She replies and pours a cup for the bald man and gestures for him to sit beside her. “Has he been dealt with?” She questions, her slim fingers tracing the girl’s address written in neat cursive style. 

“The story won’t be published that has been clear and debated through enough, madam. I found a more compelling article for Mr Baelish to write. A sexual scandal pertaining to Pycell; the old fool just likes young things quite too much.” He elaborated. “The headline was supposed to be:  History Repeats Again: Do Starks and Targaryens Ever Learn?”

Daenerys snorts. “What a horrid title.”

“Oh I agree, ma’am.” He chuckles. "I have reclaimed the photographs he intended to put out." He reaches in his silk suit and unravels a folder. There on her lap are the photographic evidences of Aegon's betrayal. He has some redhead wrapped in his embrace; they both looked so in love that she felt an echo in her empty chest.  _My younger self would've done anything to have a love like they do._ She bitterly thought. As she scans each of them, the load nearly reaching thirty, she realizes how happy Aegon seems to be with this Northern girl. He's always smiling, his cheeks denting with dimples and he is always somehow touching her, kissing her forehead or cheek. They always held hands that Daenerys found herself frowning at how uncaring they are of the affection they have for each other. 

 _The love they think they have for each other makes them irrationally brave, It's sickening._ She scoffed, her hands curling into fists. One photo had this little girl backed up against a tree with snow complexion, its leaves red as blood. Her nephew is obscenely close to her as they are kissing, their hands either on his neck or her waist or  _lower._ Even at this far angle, she can see them grinning as though a kiss could solve everything in the world.

She couldn't understand even if she tried. 

Without warning, she threw the letters and the pictures into the fire. They both watched as the flames consumed the thin papers, reducing them all to ashes. She had to hand it to the girl, she kept on writing despite her nephew’s supposed absence of response. No matter, Varys has said Sansa is a pretty girl. And pretty girls always attract petty boys and she’ll forget about her nephew in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took my time with the next move, did you LIKE IT? pleathe comment i'm all ears. and kudos would be appreciated !!! (honestly tho im so sorry this will be a long fic, by my estimate)


	11. Fresh Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years later, a chance presents itself and Sansa takes it. Whether for her dreams or because of her forgotten ones, the lines are blurred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been ages since i updated this story. been thru a lot. got insecure abt writing for like a year but whatever. hope this isn't too bad. and yes i did a time jump, it's after college.

_A little later down the road……_

The airport is filled with people like Sansa; on the verge of being in a journey. Sometimes, she wonders where each person in a crowd would go. Will the tall blonde in a red coat be going to Dorne? How about the man with that heavy suitcase? Is he on his way to some case like Mother but out of the country? She never wondered if she got the correct answers.

But now, she stands before her parents, and she has the only answer she ever needs. She’s on her way to make her dreams come true.

“Mother, please, you’ll make me cry.” Sansa softly chastises after inching away from the older redhead’s secured grip.

Mrs Stark sniffled, snuggling against the bearded man at her side. “It’s just-“ She takes a deep breath. The azure blue eyes she inherited were fragile. “We’ll miss you. Oh, my children are leaving me!”

“You have Robb, working in your law firm. And Rickon and Bran are still in college. My darling sister is a few hours away at Bears’ University. You’ll be fine!” Sansa reminded her. She eyed her father, a rather known stoic man but she could detect the worried expression that mirrored of that his wife.

“Starks going to the South is usually seen as taboo.” Father told her in that gruff voice. But he lets his eldest daughter hug him nonetheless. “We will miss you, Sansa.” He murmured on top of her head.

“And I will miss you. I will call every night.” Sansa grabbed both of their hands, beaming so brightly it could melt the snow outside of the airport. “This job is so important to me. I could be a big time fashion designer or even editor. I-I just have to do well with my job.”

 If she says it out loud, it could finally sink in her bones. Perhaps it wasn’t a surprise at all. She is the top student of her class so it’d be predictable for one of the most prestigious fashion empires to contact her. _A vacant position is waiting to be filled by me, Sansa Stark. In the South, the heart of fashion and luxury!_

Nothing would stop her, not even the small nagging voice in the back of her mind.

Mrs Stark cups her cheek with a grin. “And you will do _amazing,_ love. You’ll dazzle everyone with your skills.” She whispers with fondness.

“And be safe. Lock the door every time you leave your apartment. Check for-“

“-Oh, Father I’ll be late if you keep your sermon up again! Bye, guys, I love you!” Sansa replies with a giggle. She swiftly hugs them then proceeds to go to the departure section.

 One of her ankle boots are tapping with the carpeted floor. Her neck would be having a strain at how much she’s been glancing at her backpack. Her hands twitched as she held her phone, earphones in as music flowed from it. Chewing her lip, she gives in and opens her knapsack. Digging through her supplies, she brings out a leather notebook.

Years ago, the very sight of it reduces her to angry tears and a sobbing mess. No amount of ice cream or breakup songs was enough to soothe her naïve soul. Taking a heavy breath, she curls her fingers on the cover, glowering at the cover.

_King’s Landing is a very vast city. But if there’s even a micro chance I can throw this notebook at aspiring senator Targaryen, then by the gods, I’ll take my fucking chances._

Briefly, Sansa wonders if she took the job, leagues away from home, to avenge her broken heart. It's hard to move on when you don't even know the reason why they left. The best she can do is ignore the occasional heart aches, random memory of him, and the reminder of her childish love. 

The code for her flight was announced. She shoves it in her backpack once more and falls in line with the rest of the crowd. Staring at the perpetual grey skies of Winterfell, her home for all her life, she could picture every scenario in which her friends and family are in. It brings a smile on her face.

Upon arrival, she already regrets wearing the fuzzy sweater Mother once knitted for her. Tugging the suitcases that are almost her height, she scans the sea of people waiting for their beloveds. For a brief moment, she wondered how it would feel to have her non-existent boyfriend to pick her up at the airport. They would re-enact the cheesy scene of racing into each other’s arms and hug for centuries long.

_I did that with Jon once._

Sansa groans. _It’s Aegon now. He’s nothing to me._

She nearly stumbled when someone roughly brushed their shoulder against hers. Glaring, she huffed and ventured on. Among the unfamiliar faces, she spotted a tall blonde woman, wearing a navy suit, holding up a card that says “For Miss Sansa Stark”.

“I’m Sansa Stark. Hello. What’s your name?” She greets the woman.

“Brienne, Miss Stark.” Brienne replies. She’s almost a head taller than Sansa; noticeably muscled too. Her hair is curiously short like of a man but her blue eyes were so bright Sansa was momentarily caught back. “I’m going to bring you to your apartment, Miss.”

Sansa snapped her fingers. “Oh my, yes, Brienne Tarth! Mother arranged this! Didn’t she handle a case for the Tarth Mining Industries?” She doesn’t recall any details of the case but all she knows, at the end of the day, the Tarths are forever in gratitude for the help of Mother’s firm. She didn’t know Mr Tarth has a daughter, one as vacant and plainly dressed as Brienne.

Brienne nods, a shadowing smile on her thin pink lips. “I’m forever grateful for your mother, Miss. She saved my family’s company.” She replied, getting the suitcases from Sansa and she tugs them without any difficulty.

“I hope we can be friends, Brienne. I don’t know anyone in the city.” Sansa confesses, her hands twirling inside the loose sleeves of her sweater.

The blonde smiles. “Of course, Miss! Your mother talks about you constantly. She’s said you’re a proper lady and all other things mother says about their children.”

“So, white lies then?” Sansa jested, the both of them giggled.

As she settled in the car and Brienne _insisted_ that she can handle the bags in the trunk, she looked out the window. The gleaming sky expands beyond her field of vision, the clouds dancing in the air with ease, and towering buildings resembled tall weirwood trees. Heat is definitely felt as she took off her sweater and she’s left wearing a plain grey shirt with the school’s logo on it.

“Are you hungry?” Brienne asked, sliding into the driver’s seat and clipping on the seatbelt.

“No, I have to unpack everything in my apartment. Maybe afterwards I’ll get takeout.” Sansa replied, putting her auburn hair into a high ponytail.

“I’ll help you with your unpacking, Sansa.” Brienne once again volunteers. “And I know the best places for takeout. Or whatever’s convenient in the area of your apartment complex.”

Sansa laughs. “Why, you’re like a knight!” She teases.

Relaxing into the seat, some pop song flows form the speaker. The traffic wasn’t so bad, considering it’s in the middle of an afternoon. First day in King’s Landing, she found a friend and hopefully, some really good takeout for dinner.  


	12. The Past Persists

The weeks starting in her first job is understandably challenging. First of, culture shock still sneaks up on her when she exits her air conditioned apartment complex. She has grown used to wearing jackets and scarves before leaving her dorm or house. But now? She settles for the simple outfits of skirts, blousers, and blazers. Thankfully, she and her friends splurged in shopping before she left so she has an abundance of options to choose from.

 

Second, it’s the stillness in her apartment. Back when she was a student, she’s quite attuned to noise and laughter within a radius of her. SIblings or roomate have always served as her sources for amusement and someone to talk to. But now, only the television serves as noise and the occasional songs from the radio. Lonely is something she doesn’t feel often, being raised up as a social chameleon for Mother’s gala events and having friends and family nearby.

 

But that what she feels now.

 

When she isn't working on some assignment, she looks around and doesn't see Bran and Rickon running around with Nerf guns. She doesn't hear Arya loudly complain that Robb is cheating in the video game their playing. She doesn't have Jeyne or Gilly by her side, retelling some gossips they heard on their way to her. It's quite a distraction.

 

A knock disrupts her from her usual sullen thoughts.

 

Getting up from the white fluffy carpet, she opens her door. Releasing a breath of relief, she widens the door to welcome Brienne. The blonde is, as far as she can tell, genuinely nice and always ready to help her. Just last week, she endured Sansa's rant about which accessories would be more fitting in the shoot that's due. She thanks the Seven for Mother's generous heart.

 

Brienne lifts a plastic bag. "I got takeout. It's from a Dornish restaurant, though they don't cook it as spicy as it should be, I love how they grill the chicken." She announces, placing their dinner on the transparent coffee table.

 

"You're truly a doll, Bri. I had half a mind to order pizza." Sansa laughs, settling down on the sofa. "How's your case study?" She shouts from the kitchen, retrieving the pitcher of homemade lemon juice she likes to make.

 

Her friend as it turns out, is studying law in one of the most prestigious schools around. Sansa finds it fitting for her bleeding heart and how Brienne's moral compass is more rigid than her own.

 

"Ah, I'll be taking the role of district attorney; not fun." She sighs, opening her box and pours the chili paste on her dinner. "Plus, I'm nervous about the opposing side. He's a legend in our batch."

 

Sansa slices through her beef and dips it into the sauce. "Oh I'm sure you're quite skilled, Bri. Don't doubt your skill."

 

"It's natural to be doubtful when you're facing against _the_ Aegon Targaryen the fifth? I don't keep up with that family but I agree with my classmates that we should approach him with caution." Brienne complains then took a sip of the lemon juice.

 

Sansa drops the utensils into the books, staring blankly at the television; broadcasting the local news that has no effect on her. Not enough to outbalance the sudden loss of air in her lungs, as though Brienne swung at her instead of speaking his name.

 

"It-it's the sixth actually." She faintly corrected her friend. Her tongue felt bitter and her heart fell into her stomach. She knows Jo-Aegon is a resident of King's Landing, is fairly informed he will be retracing the steps of his aunt. But she didn't expect him to be so close to her.

 

Questions drifted to her mind. She actually wanted to ask how he is, if his heart bled as much as hers did but she opposes. _Dragons only have disregard for anyone who aren't them._ She clenched her hand over her knee, attempting to ease the storm in her head. She couldn't burst out of tears in the middle of dinner, of Brienne still talking about her assignment.

 

"Anyways, enough about my dull classes. What about yo-woah, you okay, Sans?" Brienne asked because of course she would notice the crease on her brows, the stubborn frown on her mouth like it could prevent the tears to wet her cheeks. "Is the beef curry too spicy for you? Ah, I should've known!"

 

_I should've known he never loved me._

 

She sniffles. "I, uh, I just I'm trying not to die here. You bought me dinner. I should be grateful." She mutters with a wane smile.

 

Brienne clicks her tongue, her sky blue eyes widen in concern. "What? No! Here's let's switch. I don't want you to suffer through the curry anymore. Your mother would have my head." She consoles her friend and they exchanged takeout boxes.

 

The evening went on after dinner. Brienne is on the living room floor, documents surrounding her in half-circle. Sansa is stretched out on the mocha sofa, her laptop on her middle, as she concentrates on the designs sent to her from her boss, Margaery Tyrell.

 

She looks at Brienne. "Do you want help with your case?"

 

The blonde's attention isn't diverted from the thick book she's holding. "Oh, I'm fine, Sans. You continue with your designs." She answered, absentmindedly and she got her highlighter to use it on a certain sentence at the end of some paragraph.

 

"Good luck Bri. I know you'll do wonderful." _Someone has to take against a dragon and win, you know, sometimes._

"Thanks, Sans. That means a lot to me." Brienne smiled as her eyes follow a section of the textbook.

 

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

The next day, she walks into the eighth floor with her cappuccino on one hand and on the other is her handbag. She scans the numerous cubicles and spots hers but before she even got a chance to walk towards there, a familiar person exclaims her name.

 

Margaery Tyrell, the head of designs, ambles to her with hips swaying and a blinding smile. A child prodigy of fashion that has graced too many to count magazines, commercials, and in her adolescent years, runways of which she conquered with elegance and grace.

 

"Darling, we have a meeting in five. I have important news!" She chirps but hugs her. "And those concepts you sent me last night? Positively refreshing! I knew you'd be the perfect fit for my team."

 

Sansa is used to her boss's unparalleled enthusiasm at this early in the day. "Thank you, Marg." In her initial days, she used ma'am because of etiquette.

 

Margaery's offended reaction was downright comical. _Oh dear me, I'm not my mother Sansa! Please don't call me that again. Well, unless I have my first grey hair. That thought alone is unwelcomed!_

 

"May I ask what this meeting is about?" She asked, being led into one of the conference rooms.

 

Margaery's jade eyes darted around the room to avoid Sansa's. "Just, ah, please don't react too much. Of course a reaction is expected from you, above anyone else but this is such a huge score for our company I couldn't resist!"

 

Sansa would've requested for more elaboration but the rest of the designers filed and sat on the long oval table. She sits near Margaery's right, binders ready, and her notepad open.

 

"Good morning, everyone!" She greets and it's reciprocated. "I have a special announcement." She stops, intentionally letting the suspense incline.

 

Sansa's skin itches for some reason. She wants to tap her fingers or bounce her knee but Mother has said it's impolite. So, she chews the inside of her cheek.

 

"Time Magazine has asked us to handle the photoshoot for Daenerys Targaryen. She's been named one of the most influential politicians of our generation." The Tyrell declares, her eyes soft at Sansa.

 

She could feel the stares of the people in the room. That name brought back memories. Most of Jon's portrayal of her; composed, beautiful, and willing to do anything to uphold their heritage and name. For a time, Sansa was convinced she's the reason for Jon's hesitance to revisit them in Winterfell but he showed up, against reality and consequence. She could still remember the first time seeing him, snowflakes in his black curls, his cheeks pink, and his dark eyes focused only on her.

 

Anyways, Jon moved on and so did she. Or, if one considers suppressing their adolescent relationship extremely far from the spotlight of her thoughts. She's sure she locked them up in a large crate, at the corner of her mind and it'll be forgotten at any moment now.

 

But not today.

 

"And Sansa," Margaery's cautious tone is enough to make her pay attention again. "I would like you to be my right hand on this. It's proper practice for someone so new to the industry. And I appreciate your unique perspective."

 

Sansa couldn't deny her boss or even the opportunity to learn from the best. I won't let Targaryens make a wolf cower in fear. "It'll be my pleasure, Marg." She answers, her tone clipped with civility. She doesn’t know if she should curse every god out there or to cry into her pillow tonight.

 

Margaery claps her hands. "Oh, thank the Seven! Any questions, guys?"

 

She doesn't take note in this meeting, doesn't listen to the questions and answers being thrown around in the conference room. Her hand flexes as she holds her pen, pondering on what could happen.

 

_Does Daenerys know about Jon and I? Will she resent me for loving her nephew? Can I look her in the eye and pretend she doesn’t make me miss Jon?_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope it's alright


	13. The Heart Never Forgets

 

The concept is simple.

 

Sansa and Margaery were constructed Miss Targaryen's outfit for the photoshoot. The decided on the makeup, outfit, jewelleries, and anything else that would be important as being the front cover of Time Magazine.

 

Throughout the process, she has numerously requested that she won't attend the shoot itself, that her assistance behind the scenes is sufficient. But her boss wouldn't just listen. _Oh, I can't let you leave me. What if something bad or disastrous happened? I'll need your quick wit._

 

So, today, they arrived at the studio with Margaery conversing with the rest of the staff to bring the equipment inside. Sansa stared at the double doors, hesitation rooting her to the spot with clenched hands and blood dotting her tongue.

 

_I don't want to see that woman. I don't want a reminder of what was lost to me._

Under the influence of little alcohol, she reopened Jon's (she's given up at this point and resigned in referring him to what she knows of him) diary. She reviewed what Daenery's nephew thinks of her. And just like before, annoyance sparks in her veins at feeling how forlorn Jon is because of her, of the constant need to separate Jon from anything that isn't aligned to their family.

 

It's not that she cares about that, about him. (This thought alone can leave her confused for the rest of the day so rather not ponder on it too long) Sansa could fairly assume how determined the blonde is to restoring the family name to its former glory, one more suiting in the medieval times. She wonders how Daenerys an acclaimed politician with that sort of vengeful heart underneath all her unworldly beauty.

 

"Sansa, dear, come in." Margaery called over shoulder. She's surrounded by other assistants, her hand held a tablet with their itinerary, and dark sunglasses perched on top of her silky copper locks.

 

She obeys and trails behind the rest of the team until they arrive at the sight of the shoot. After snatching a cup of coffee from the buffet table, she talks to the photographer, discussing the flow of the shoot. Margaery instructs how to lay out the makeup and outfits while she nibbles on her blueberry munchkin.

 

Her phone rings and she answers the moment she sees Brienne's name. Finally, someone to relieve the tension in her stiffened posture. "Hi." She greets, wincing in surprise at the loud chatters surrounding her friend. It seems as though someone is celebrating.

 

_Sansa, I won the case! Oh, I feel so wonderful. I even impressed our professor. And he's the kind of sexist ass to think women shouldn't be lawyers. Jokes on him!_

 

The tension in her shoulders melted away as a smile graces her mouth. "See, I told you you're the best! I'm so happy for you." She replies. "We should definitely celebrate."

 

Brienne makes a sound to reply but a husky voice stops her. Sansa is frozen, clutching her phone so hard and if it was possible, it would've broken in half by now.

 

_Brienne, you did amazing out there! I'm glad I lost to someone as proficient as you. You'll make a fine lawyer one day._

 

Her friend laughs. Sansa can already picture her reddened cheeks and her sapphire eyes darting on the floor. Brienne is so endearingly modest she's almost blinded by it. _Thanks, Aegon. You did exceedingly well too! I'm surprised that I even stood a chance against you._

 

Jo-Aegon laughs. She hated how she felt the vibrations through the phone call. _I didn't know how much I missed his voice, his laugh_ . Tears blurred her vision and she quietly sniffled. To think she has moved on from him all these years! Truly she has only been fooling herself. To hear that northern rumble once again, to _know_ that his accent hasn't changed in the Capital, well, her heart can only take so much of him in one day.

 

The notion of Jon smiling still had the ability to catalyze flutterings in her heart. Damn this handsome and humble man. Why can't it be easy to hate one's ex? Especially one that she considers the kindest man she has ever met?

 _Sansa_?

 

Sansa didn't realize she's been staring at the mirror for two minutes now. She blinked, staring at the busy scene in front of her. "Yes?"

 

_I'm sorry about that. I can't really rub it in his face that I won. He's a really great guy. I often wonder how he's even related to his aunt! But anyways, I was thinking we could grab a drink to celebrate? And you need something strong after that important photoshoot._

 

She smiles. "Of course, Bri. Text me the address and I'll be there."

 

 _Take care, Sans_.

 

"You too." She whispers. Briefly, the temptation to come clean to Brienne about everything felt strong. She could bring the journal with her later.

 

But what would she even gain? She didn't want to make Brienne uncomfortable with her association with Jon.Perhaps Brienne would think she's bragging?  Why can't she just just burn the cursed journal like any broken-hearted person would do to move on?

 

_I’m a Stark. I’m angsty and dramatic._

 

"Oh, she's here!" One of the makeup artists exclaimed.

 

People scurried around but Sansa wished she blended in the crowd of her co-workers, wanting so badly to be hidden in sight.

 

Margaery had other thoughts. She held Sansa's hand, smiled with a comforting gaze. "It'll be alright, love. This will all be over soon and then we can finish that batch of muffins." She promises.

 

She tries to hide her discomfort as she sees the senator's secretary enter the scene. He's a fat bald man, wearing a pinstripe suit and had his hands folded in front of fim. _A margarita in exchange for seeing my ex's aunt, who could hate me. Worth it._

 

"It's an honour to have you with us today, Varys." Margaery says in honeyed voice, spreading her arms and pressing her lips on the secretary's cheek.

 

He smiles but it's one not of happiness but politeness. "You look as lovely as the flowers in Highgarden, Miss Tyrell." He responds.

 

"This is my right hand woman, Sansa Stark." Her boss introduces her and with a gentle nudge she stands in between Varys and her.

 

Varys' reaction is peculiar. His eyes widen in a fraction, mouth slightly agape but in half a second he managed to school his reaction and smiled cordially at her. "A Stark in the South? How odd." He jested and her boss laughs. "I wonder why you're here, Miss Stark. Surely you thrive better in the cold and ice?" There was a discrete question hidden within his statement.

 

Sansa knows these sorts of people, never upfront about their agendas. They have the skill of being a puppet master but she will cut the strings before they are attached on her. _Does he know me?_ Varys is known to be knowledge about everyone that are important to his and Miss Targaryen's plans.

 

"It's the center of fashion, sir." She politely answers, noticing how intense Varys' gaze is at her, as though searching for an answer to his question. "I want to learn from the best."

 

Margaery giggles. "Oh she flatters me so! Now, let me show you where the senator should stay." She states, directing the odd man away from Sansa.

 

Sansa decides to have a taste of the coffee everyone is having. While she pours a cup, an empty one is being handed to her. Tilting her chin up, she sees Mother’s old friend. "Here you go, Mr Baelish.” She says, tilting the coffee pot into his cup this time.

 

The man has always scared her out when she was young. That slimy gaze he has on her makes her feel like her skin wants to crawl away from him.

 

“Sansa,”

 

She shivers in disgust at his hushed voice.

 

“A pleasant surprise to see you here.” His smile adds to his creep factor. Tugging his navy blazer, he moves towards her. “And you are as beautiful as ever, my dear.”

 

 _I’m not yours. “_ How’s Aunt Lysa doing these days?” She inquires innocently. No one in the family could have a logical reason as to why Aunt Lusa settled with this leech. Even mother detested talking about their marriage.

 

He takes a sip of the bland coffee. “She’s in the Vale. I’m afraid the city isn’t good for your cousin’s health.” He answers. “What are you doing here in the Capital?”

 

_Why is everyone so curious for me to answer that question?_

 

“I got a job here.” She curtly answers, her eyes sliding away from Mother’s old friend and towards the ongoing photo shoot. 

 

Daenerys now wore a floor length floral gown, her silver locks trail behind her and she wears matching heels. She then sits on a chair and Varys hovers, talking to his boss.

 

“Must be awkward to be in the same room as her, huh?” Petyr insinuated a dangerous matter, something so close to her heart.

 

Sansa recalled it was this man that wrote the article about the pen pal program all those years ago. _What else does he know? “_ Who are you talking about?”

 

His smile is mocking. “The past never truly stays behind us, does it? Sometimes it stands right in front of you like some bad punchline of a joke. I think people call it irony.” His quiet laughter irritated Sansa.

 

She’s also worried. _What does he know about Jon and I?_

 

 _“_ I honestly don’t understand what you’re implying, Mr Baelish.” _The suggestions he’s making are perilous._ “If you’ll excuse me, I have to do my work.”

 

She stops when he speaks again, in that taunting voice.

 

“Since you’re Catelyn’s daughter, I’ll give you a warning. Don’t get too close with the senator, my dear. She has never liked you and never will.” With that, he walks ahead of her, with a gait of ease.

 

Sansa exhales a tired breath. But then she _witnesses_ it. Varys whispering something to Daenerys and her violet eyes snapped to hers. Though Daenerys is surrounded by makeup artists, her stare is clearly directed at Sansa.

 

She couldn’t decipher the blonde’s precise reaction, only that she’ll probably heed Petyr’s warning.

 

“Sansa!” Margaery’s cheery voice made her look away. She flounced to her and grabbed her hands. “I have a wonderful offer that I know you can’t refuse!” She squeals.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Loras just called me and he invited me to this ridiculously exclusive gala. He said I can bring anyone I like. His boyfriend is a politician, Renly Baratheon if you’ve heard of him. So anyways, I’m bringing you as my plus one!”

 

Sansa smiles. As a child, she always adores parties; the grandeur atmosphere of it, the romantic songs being played by a string quartet, and the dashing men in suits and glamorous women. “I’d be honored, Marg.” She accepts and they laugh in excitement.

 

She grins, letting her boss gush about the party but her mind couldn’t stop contemplating the dilemma she’s in. Looking beyond her boss’s shoulder, she sees that the esteemed senator is still staring at her, without emotion but blatant distaste.

 

 _What game are they playing?_ Sansa wondered.

 

——————

 

She didn’t mind that he was late to dinner. A glass of the vintage wine from Highgarden would keep anyone content. Before she could call the waiter for a refill, her nephew sits across her with a nervous smile.

 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Gods, the traffic was so horrible!” Aegon laments and thanks the waiter for refilling their glasses.

 

“Nonsense, it’s alright, dear.” Daenerys swirls the glass, the wine following the motion. “What happened today?”

 

“I got my ass handed to me by Brienne Tarth.” He laughs when she arches her finely shaped brow. “I don’t mind. She’s quite good.”

 

“So are you. You are a Targaryen, after all.” She answers. A waiter approaches them and takes down their orders.

 

“How was the photo shoot earlier?” Aegon asked.

 

Her spine stiffens and she has to remind herself to not clench her jaw. _I saw her today, that redhead you were a fool for._ Seeing her in person, it makes sense why her usually composed nephew became reckless. She is beautiful, like winter and autumn harmonically blended.

 

And she’s _here_ in this city. Only the gods know what her kind hearted nephew would do if he knew. _He doesn’t know what I did. And he won’t ever know. Its for his own good. He moved on from her and he’s doing amazingly well without that Stark._

 

 _“_ It was fine, I guess.” She blithely answers. “I think you shouldn’t go to the gala event next week.” Her request is nothing but a whisper yet Aegon hears her.

 

Aegon places their meals in front of them. He directs his perplexed expression to her. “Uh, why? First you badgered me for nearly a month to attend and now you’re retracting your invitation?” He speculates.

 

“You have so much on your plate with law school and such. I wouldn’t want you to waste time in frivolous events when you should be studying, dear.” She consoles as she tastes the famed beef sirloin.

 

He shifts in his velvet lined seat. “A break from staring at the textbooks would be great, Aunt. I swear I won’t scowl as much as I would like to.” He vows with a small smile.

 

Daenerys giggles. “Ah, my nephew, it isn’t that.” _She’ll be there and I’ll lose you. A dragon doesn’t take defeat as easily as others._

 

“Then why?”

 

“I think it best if you just listened to me.” She warns with a sharp tone. Her fork scrapes against the plate and she sees Aegon with a bewildered expression. “I just, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with the usual society and those stiff suits.”

 

He jokingly rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about me. Sam will be there! Dickon just got another star on his collection and he invited Sam. I’ve been looking forward to see them actually.” He pauses as he drinks his wine and glances at her, apprehensively. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to see my friends.”

 

Her smile hurts her cheeks. “Of course, darling. You must be missing them with all your busy schedules and such.” The food lost its appeal to her. Worry fills her stomach instead.

 

_You must still love that Stark girl. Why else would you avoid dating like its a plague?_

 

 _Thank gods its a masquerade ball._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i seem to rlly like this story again,,, hope u guys like it too!! also next chap will be in jon's pov bc that emo bitch WILL be dramatic and everyone will probably be drunk and confused and wearing masks. it'll be fun!


	14. Moving On is a Thing?

The most anticipated gala event of the year is, for Aegon, a grand display of ass kissing for politicians and the rich one percent. He couldn’t say more because he is part of this dreadful category. But the food and alcohol are the finest so he couldn’t hate them too much.

His aunt has scolded him a number of times to try and lessen his intake of the champagne. Her reason being: “Your future wife could be roaming within the crowd as we speak. You must act like a gentleman, if only for a few hours.” He nearly laughs, wanting to save himself from an earful of sermon and Sam smirking as he takes a sip from his scotch.

In the initial hour of the party, he tolerated it enough, having been reunited with Sam. After months of not seeing each other, he hugged him heartily and they talked for a great deal of another hour with glasses being constantly refilled. He listened to Dickon’s wild and dangerous stories being in the military. They both teased Sam’s concern for his little brother’s safety

“And how’s working in an elite accounting firm?” Aegon asked Sam. He knew his friend have endured so much with all those ledgers and case studies when they shared a dorm back in college. “Did you know, when he was studying for the board, he kept on muttering the formulas in his sleep! Scared me so much.”

Dickon laughed at Sam’s reddened face. “I’m not surprised. It’s because of him I even stood a chance to pass my maths. I’m so proud of you.” _Even if our father isn’t._

Aegon knew how narrow minded Mr Tarly is when it comes to the family reputation. His eldest being, well, Sam, he poured all his dreams of his son being another general into Dickon. Sam has a different strength that their father won’t ever comprehend.

Dickon’s eyes lit up, seeing someone beyond Aegon’s shoulder. “I-I have _got_ to talk to that woman.” He mumbled, barely waiting for a response for he walked intot he crowd, to the aforementioned woman.

They continued to talk and laugh.

“Tell me Sam, how can I meet my wife when she won’t recognize me with this on my face?” Aegon speculated, tapping the feathered mask obscuring half of his face. The grey feather stuck out of it, tickling the side of his head.

Sam, beside him and wore identical masks, shrugged. “Fate will guide you along, perhaps.” He answers with a sigh.

They both stood at the end of the dance floor which is a flurry of expensive flowing dresses and men with fitted suits. At this vantage point, he couldn’t recognize anyone but Sam and his aunt. Anyone with sight can spot the silvery locks trailing down her back. Even with a mask he would know that gentle and misleading voice anywhere.

“Really, Sam.” Aegon chuckles. “Where’s Dickon? I forgot to congratulate him before he ran off like a headless chicken!”

“I really don’t know. I can hardly see him with other men wearing the same damn mask. I'm sure he has a queue of young ladies begging for a dance.” Sam complained but he wasn’t jealous. No, despite their father being an utter waste of space, the brothers shared a deep and sincere bond. “Last I saw, he was talking with a redhead by the bar, quite smitten if you ask me.”

“Aegon, dear.”

He blinks, surprised at how the petite blonde suddenly materialized in front of them. “Hello. Good evening to you all.” He greets, noticing how there are two other people at her sides.

And they aren’t the usual company consisting her bodyguard and secretary. One was a tall, lean man with skin like sand in a beach and had dark curls like his. The other was a woman with thick curly hair, spiralling down her shoulders; her dress is ruby red, accentuating her curves in an alluring manner. They both wore masks as well so he couldn’t recognize the Martells. They have a rich empire across the seas, untouched by Westerosi influence and yet still thrived proficiently.

“This is Quentyn Martell and his sister, Arianne.” His aunt introduces them. They all shook hands.

“It’s a catastrophe that I can’t see your face, Arianne. I’ve heard that your beauty is a sight everyone is blessed with.” Aegon comments, making sure his voice doesn’t suggest too much because her brother is in front of him.

Arianne’s plus red coated lips stretched into a mischievous grin. “Perhaps you’ll see all of me some time into the night.” She purrs and though Aegon couldn’t see her expression, her voice says enough.

Quentyn groans, his Aunt giggles, and Sam tries not to react at all.

“Please just take my sister to dance or something. My ears are bleeding, perhaps.” Quentyn pleads, making everyone laugh.

“I wouldn’t want to enforce myself on you, Aegon Targaryen.” The dark haired beauty sighs in a feigned manner, fluttering her long lashes at him. Her eyes resemble of dark coffee, further darkening the more they stare.

His throat tightens and so does his pants. _It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman’s attention._ He bends his arm to her. “You wouldn’t. I’d be honoured.” He insists, liking how her small hand curls on his elbow. “I must admit I don’t dance well.” He admits as they settle along with the other dance partners on the dance floor.

“I’m sure you’ve had sufficient practice with other ladies.” Arianne laughs, her hand feels nice on his, feels almost _right._ He wonders if he had too much alcohol to be this fond for someone he just met. 

“I don’t really dance.” Aegon answers. They started to sway to the gentle song being played by the band. He’s sure to keep his hand in a socially acceptable manner; a position any chaperone in a school’s dance would approve of.

But, she has other thoughts for she inched closer. Their chests so closer that he could smell the mint tea in her breath and he caught a whiff of the fragrance dabbed on her skin. It’s intoxicating.

She licks her lips and he tries, _tries_ to not ogle at that innocuous innocent action. “You’re a handsome man, Mr. Targaryen.” She whispers, the heat of her words seeping into his veins and he faintly feels a simmer in his belly.

 _Is this a sign of sort to go further?_ The gods know how clueless he is with these things. The last time he had to overanalyse his movements was when he pondered if French kissing with Sansa-

He closed his eyes and groaned, detesting the train of thought. He has a bewitching woman in his arms and _still_ he’s thinking of some girl who broke his heart in his youth? He should really move on.

Like with this enticing Martell.

“Is the dance… too much for you?” Arianne questions, her tone like sweet molasses he could almost taste it on his tongue.

“You’re too much for me, I’m afraid.” He murmured, detesting how he stumbled on his short response. Being in love as a teenager is far easier than this dangerous and unknown territory; he almost wished Sam had a book on flirtations.

The Martell giggled but somehow that too was seductive. “You flatter me.” Her fingers danced on his shoulder, stopping at his beard. She briefly bit her lips, of which he couldn’t help but stare at the fleeting action. Tilting her head to the side, the light shines on her clay like skin. “Should I make you feel good this time?”

_Gods._

Aegon swallowed, blinked, and his mind is completely blank. His hand flexed on her hip, knowing the heat of it could be felt through her dress. It’s his turn to lick his lips and he noticed how her eyes dropped to his mouth.

“You could but it’d be better if we went somewhere _private._ ” He said those words in that dark tone, surprising himself but he hides it when she smiles so brilliantly.

They walked away from the dance floor when the song ended and another one came to play; some sappy love song made into a ballad. He doesn’t need romance. He had one lasting his lifetime. What he needed, as his friends have repeatedly told him, is to have _fun_.

And Arianne appears to be the type to provide such entertainment.

They arrived at a balcony and he pulls her to the corner of it, so no one would see them through the curtains and floor length glass door. The press would have a field day if they saw them pressed up blatantly inappropriate.

Aegon cups her cheek, admiring how the moonlight washes on her face, making her skin smoother and her lips redder. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, inching closer, their lips brushing with his nerves tingling like crazy.

Reaching behind her, he loosens the tie of her mask and it falls to the ground. She did the same for his. Now, she possesses an even more ethereal.

“And you’re just so damn adorable.” Arianne replies as her crimson manicured hand wraps on his neck and eliminates the silver line distance.

Her lips were smooth, silk like against his and it was maddening. He wasn’t sure where his hands should be so he traced the shape of her inviting hips. Breathless, he pushed his tongue into her mouth. Sparks of delight feathered down his spine and when she moaned and he curled his tongue along her own.

He smiled into the kiss when her fingers combed through his curls. Her fingernails scraped on his scalp and it motivated him to kiss harder, more ardently if this is the only way he could hear those delicious and melodic moans.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so sorry guys!” Someone exclaimed behind them.

Aegon turned to see Dickon holding a hand of some redhead. They’re both not wearing the required masks. It was rather dark out in the balcony he couldn’t see very well. He huffed some breathe and managed a shy smile, knowing his hair is messy and his lips are red and swallowed smeared with her lipstick.

“Aegon, oh hi!” Dickon eyed Arianne and smirked. “Sorry for interrupting.”

He felt the eyes of Dickon’s date on him so he stared, finding she owns icy pair of eyes. Hazy he is with lust and alcohol; he recalls he used to be fond of that precise shade of blue.

“You still are, you know.” Arianne pointed out, a little breathless like him.

Dickon stepped forward, bringing the girl closer. “This is the girl I saw earlier! Her name is Sansa Stark.” He exclaims in excitement. “We should find another place to… talk.” His ears went red with his suggestion.

_Sansa?_

It felt as though the air in his lungs have escaped his system completely. His throat tight, mouth dry, and he wants to stay where they are, staring at Sansa. He has been deprived of the pleasure for years. Usually, he would know when one is introducing each other but this? He has no ability to string words together, only to scrutinize every perfect feature of his beloved.

She’s lovely as ever. Her auburn hair is obvious even in this darkness, tumbling down on of her shoulders. Her thin strapped azure dress has a slit, mid-thigh giving a sneak peak of her tone leg. And her feet are adorned with heels; she’s even more beautiful as the years went by.

“You ought to find that place then.” Arianne sweetly suggests, her hand on his.

Aegon catches the narrowing of Sansa’s eyes, displeasure crossing her features but she smoothens it when Dickon glances at her. “We really should.” He laughs, tugging Sansa along behind him. 

She didn’t turn back.

He had the intention of stepping forward, as though he wanted to chase her. Like all those years ago, travelling to Winterfell just for the sake to see and hold her.

“You look tense. May I be of assistance?” Arianne asked, standing in front of him, her hands massaging his tensed shoulders.

“Your place or mine?” Aegon found himself asking. His voice has dropped, probably because they have been making out or all emotion left him after seeing _her_.

She grins. “Is your place a presidential suite?”

“Well no, it’s an apartment.”

“My place then.”

The image of Sansa’s disappointment burned into his mind, whether he permits the pain or not. For an irrational moment, he wanted to leave his date, distance himself from temptation and find Sansa. He wanted to know why she's here all of a sudden, haunting him, taunting him of his broken heart. It's so unfair that his ex is lovelier, not helping him in any way at all. She looks very well off with his friend.  _She’s with Dickon now._ He scolded himself, knowing it would be selfish to envy Dickon. The Tarly is a nice man, someone who’d be perfect for her. He’s the uncomplicated person, sweet and doting; everything anyone naturally craves.

“Don’t you share the room with your brother?” He tentatively asked, subtly hoping she’ll reject him. Alcohol has never been appealed to him more than tonight.

“I don’t.” She laughs, her hand curling into his, bringing him with her.

And Aegon follows her.

Aunt was wrong of him finding his wife tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it bad to say i read my works too? lmao anyways when i say i'm dramatic, i mf MEAN it. I hope the kissing scene isn't too underwhelming,, its not my forte anyways hope u enjoy the drama!! comments, violent reactions, and kudos are strongly encouraged


	15. Interlude

“Was he-was he that bad?”

Sansa made a questioning sound, not quite certain the blonde heard her. She has her quilt heavy on her shoulders, her cheek pressed to mocha sofa pillow. Her legs are bent towards her as she kept on blankly staring at the news being featured in the television.

Brienne bends in front of her, blocking the view of some robbery that took place. She’s frowning and pats the redhead’s shoulder. “I haven’t had much experience but I know _this_ reaction is not good. Want to talk about it?”

“Dickon was alright. Lost my virginity or whatever.” She grunts, lifting the quilt higher so it rests on her neck.

“And this…. upset you? Granted it is a social construct to inflate a man’s fragile ego but still, you’re sad because of this?”

She sighs, shaking her head. Shame and anger battling in her mind that it left her little else to think about. If she closes her eyes, she could see Jon, hidden by the cloak of night, flustered red and more handsome than she last saw him. But this time, he was with a woman, a beautiful one at that. Almost everything Sansa isn’t can be found in her; daring, her red lipstick smeared on Jon’s mouth; the very same she fantasized for _years_ , no matter the distance and silence.

He has always been the only boy to cradle her heart in his hands. Other faceless boys she’s kissed and danced in college didn’t matter because as she’s certain despite of the separation, her heart is a naïve and blind thing. She _hopes._

“Did he make you do something you weren’t comfortable with? I can handle that for you.” The blonde frets with cinched eyebrows and her hand patting Sansa’s calf.

“I saw my ex.” She managed to grumble over the silence between the two of them. “He-He was with another…” She trailed off and waving her hand in the air, unable to say it. Sitting up, Sansa kept on rubbing her eyes and loathing how her voice cracked.

Brienne sat next to her, hesitant and awkward; much how she felt about the confession. “Ah, well, I never got around dating myself but that must’ve been hard. Was the breakup that atrocious that you react this way?” She gently inquired, taking note of the increasing intervals of Sansa’s sniffles and her hands clenching on the blanket on her. “If-if it’s alright to talk about this, of course.”

“We didn’t even breakup. He just stopped loving me!” Sansa cried out, flapping her arms. “Sorry.” She mumbled, ashamed and annoyed at the tears prickling her eyes. Some traced the round of her cheek. She faced Brienne and heaved a sigh. “We were young and,” She paused, finding it hard to put in words what she and Jon had. “I love him so much-I mean _loved._ It’s past tense, a thing in my youth. _”_

“I don’t think you mean that.” Her friend commented. “You’re still shaken up by seeing him. What happened when you saw him? If it’s alright for you.”

She leaned against the sofa, head craned and she stared at the ceiling. “Dickon happened. I was trying to be spontaneous. New city meant new me, right? No. We caught him and _that_ woman making out. I left the scene before I could embarrass the both of us. And I slept with dear sweet Dickon. You know what’s worse?”

“My imagination is often limited with these sorts of dilemmas but go on.” Brienne urged, pouring their glasses with the wine she brought for dinner.

“That rascal and Dickon are friends! Oh Bri, it’s so awful and humiliating.” Sansa whined, drinking most of the wine in one gulp. “Why are the gods so cruel to me?”

Brienne sips from hers and her face scrunches in disgust.

Sansa couldn’t stop giggling at her adorable reaction. “Maybe but I agreed to have dinner with him.” She replied.

“Your ex?”

_I don’t want to answer that question._ “No, Dickon.”

“And yet you’re moping here about your ex a day before that said date?” Brienne acknowledged in a friendlier tone that would beguile the truth in her statement.

“It’s cathartic.” Sansa snapped, not looking at her friend. “I’m becoming as brooding as him, oh I hate this! I want to eat something.” She decides, standing up and drinking her second glass of wine. Going to the kitchen, she scans the cabinets and the fridge for anything to settle her hunger.

“Is it alright if I check your books, Sansa? It’s a fine collection!” Brienne calls.

“Sure!” She calls back. In the end, she holds a pack of biscuit, finding it too trying to cook while her head is soaked with that Dornish wine. It was so strong and flagrant on her tongue, smooth and its effects were undetectable until she stands up.

“You have a lot of History books about the North and South. I’m impressed.”

Sansa shuffled about the kitchen, tapping her chin and her fuzzy slippers barely making a noise. “I like the songs poets wrote.”

“I think I need more than cream filled sandwiches for dinner.” Sansa laughs, dropping it at the coffee table. She spots Brienne, staring at a book, shock loosening her facial features and she looked as though she hasn’t blinked since she saw it. “Bri, what’s wrong?”

The swiftly blanching blonde lifted the book, showing the worn out titled and to whom it belonged. Sansa gasped. “Wh-why do you have one of Aegon’s diary?” She questioned in a tone of disbelief, only a level above a whisper. “I-I know his handwriting. This is his though younger and messier. Is there something you’re not telling me? Are you stalking him?”

Sansa made a move to move closer to Brienne but she faltered in her step. Cursing at the gods, she sees Brienne regarding her with an entirely different expression than one of the usual amiable look.

“I probably shouldn’t do this drunk.” She slurred. “But I swear I can explain.”

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Wow, you look beautiful, Sansa.” Dickon breathed, his eyes have gone wide as he studies her from head to toe.

She presses her lips to his cheek. “Thank you. Please, make yourself welcome. I’m so sorry but I’m still finding the other pair to my earrings. It goes nicely with this outfit.” She says, placing the bouquet of flowers in a vase with water.

The large man in a navy suit sits on her sofa. “It’s alright. Take your time.” He calls, as she retreats to her bedroom.

Her jewellery box contains compartments and she opens each one to attempt to find the lost pair. After minutes, she did and quietly exclaimed, then places it into her ear.

Strapping on her heels, she walks in the living room to find her date by her bookshelf. _What’s with Southron people and bookshelves?_ Luckily, Jon’s diary is tucked away in her  bedroom.

_Why keep it after all these years, even after he stopped writing to you?_

_Gee, thank you for hashing out my heart wrenching past to my face._

“Sansa?”’

She’s pulled out of the reminiscence of her drunken explanation to Brienne. It lasted about two hours, of Brienne rubbing her back and keeping the wine away from her reaching hands. To her surprise, the blonde didn’t make fun or judged her for what had occurred, what she and Jon did for they were too devoted to each other.

Instead, she lets Sansa babble on and her wore an understanding and comforting expression.

_People don’t really stop loving someone. It’s just not possible. How can you care for someone who’s so special to you in that instant and not care in the next?_

Sansa shakes her head, until now, she has no answer to Brienne’s question. “Sorry, let’s go.” She murmured, allowing Dickon to lead her out of the apartment.

As they climbed in his sports car, Dickon said, “I have to confess. This is a double date. My friend is too socially inept to be left alone with a woman.” He airily announces, swerving into the light traffic to the restaurant.

Sansa fiddled with her purse. “I don’t mind.” She replies, her thoughts are whirling at the possibilities but then she scolds herself. _I should’ve brought the journal just in case I could throw it at his face._

They made pleasant and casual talk for the rest of the ride. Entering the restaurant, it exuded extravagance with a golden chandelier that greeted them from the ceiling, wine red velvet seats with low candlelight to add to the romantic scene. A band played some Italian song that could’ve been a romantic lullaby.

“Ah, Mr Tarly, your other guests have arrived.” The waiter informed them as they weaved through the tables with businessmen and heiress enjoying the night. They stopped at the front of those tables, near the dance floor where old couples were dancing.

“Brilliant! You’ll love Aegon. We met him at the party. It was an interesting way to meet.” Dickon laughs.

Suddenly, his hand on the small of her back felt wrong. Her reaction is to escape this disaster waiting for her not three feet from where she stands. Her hands clutched her purse so that her fingernails dug into the leather.

Then, she sees them. They’re a picture perfect pair; his date of the dark haired woman, even more beautiful in this lighting. She wore a plum dress, floor length but a slit stopping mid-thigh with grey high heels making her an inch taller than _him._

Jon looks devastatingly handsome that she finds herself frowning in ire. _How dare he?_ He wore a fitted tux, his inky curls messy, and his bear is almost wild. His smoky grey eyes follow her as they approach their seats; ever so consistent and unwavering.

She shivers at his attention.

“The first we saw of each other was _pretty_ embarrassing.” Dickon commented, making the others lightly laugh. “Where are my manners? Sansa, this is Aegon Targaryen and his date, Arianne Martell. Guys, this is Sansa.”

So a name is placed on the beauty and it even fits; elegant and graceful. _Perfect!_ Sansa thought as she smiled at the waiter, finishing up taking their orders.

“I swear I’m not, usually like… that.” Ae-Jon says with a chuckle. Fleetingly, he glances at her but then Arianne reaches out across the table to hold his _hand_. And he smiles back.

_This night just won’t end, huh? The gods hate me so much._

“Aegon here is a freaking saint! He’s always the designated driver whenever we all go to pubs.” Dickon says, drinking a portion of the wine.

“Then how come you guys caught us in that compromising situation?” The Martell giggles.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at the happy couple, frustrated beyond reason. This is the farthest scenario she conjured up for when they actually reunite. She couldn’t even throw wine at his face. No, wine is expensive and delectable. She couldn’t even _react_ properly, what she deserves with the years of torment now fresh in her mind.

“You okay?” Dickon asked, holding her hand with worry on his face. It was cute, sufficient to distract her from the rage in her thoughts.

“I’m fine. It’s work.” Sansa answered, not missing a beat.

When the food came, the two pairs were in their own world of conversation, enjoying the pleasure of their company. Glasses are filled, laughs and genuine interest swirls around them.

“You picked such a good restaurant, mate. I loved dinner!” Dickon exclaimed, patting Jon on the back. It wasn’t a surprise that Jon had the capability of picking a romantic restaurant to set the mood.

“You chose this place?” Arianne echoed with a soft smile and damn near awe shining in her dark eyes.

_Could you not, lady._

The uncouth thoughts in her head would be enough for Mother to scold her. _If he likes her then fine he likes her. I just don’t want to see it unfold in front of me._

Jon shrugged, like the humble man that he is. “I liked the atmosphere. It’s almost like a love song, you know?”

_I knew it with you, you ass._

“Sansa, want to dance with me?” Dickon requested, already halfway to rising from his seat and offering his hand.

“Gladly.” She acquiesces with a beam. _Anything to get away from them._ His hand settles on her hip and the other holds her hand. They gently sway to the love song in another language.

Looking up, she catches Dickon’s fond gaze towards her. It scares her. “I hope you’re having fun with me.” He mumbles, his thumb tracing the curve of her hip.

“Of course I am.” Sansa assures him, her hand brushing on the nape of his neck.

“It’s just that you’ve been glaring at Aegon the entire evening. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But well, he isn’t the smoothest man when it comes to flirting and dates. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a woman before. When he asked me to come, I didn’t hesitate.” Dickon confesses with genuine agony that she couldn’t help but feel her anger lessen. He kissed her forehead. “Our next date, it’ll just be us.”

Her throat tightened at that suggestion. She even _dreaded_ enduring a night alone with this kind man. How messed up is she to loathe such an offer? Isn’t she supposed to be grateful that someone finds her worth their time?

_It’s all his fault._ Sansa thought vehemently, gazing beyond Dickon’s shoulder to see them enter the dance floor. More like gliding to it with how immaculate and pristine they look.

Jon is suave and formal; his hands are properly placed on Arianne’s hip and held her small hand. He smiles at her, talking in hushed tones about things she doesn’t even care about.

Then, they were moving closer to them so Sansa smiled brightly at Dickon, pretending to listen to him talk.

“I heard Navy officers are gifted dancers.” Arianne insinuates, arching her brow. She’s noticeably closer to Jon than she was a moment ago. Not that Sansa noticed, of course. “Let us dance, Mr Tarly.” She urges.

“Don’t have too much fun.” Sansa laughs as they drift away, swaying to the gentle beat.

“The song isn’t over.” Jon murmurs.

She briefly clenches her fist and nods. Staring at the marble pillar behind him, she places her hand on his and on his shoulder. The heat of him is different than what she knows, it fills her veins like a slow and cosy heat. His palm is rough on hers but it serves as an interesting contrast.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Jon says; the gruff in his voice makes her heart hammer maddeningly against her chest.

“She looks beautiful.” Sansa responds without emotion, tilting her head to the side.

His mouth twitches; a movement she would’ve missed if not for how she stares at him, open and discreetly imploring. “Sulking doesn’t suit you, Sans.” He sighs.

Miraculously they maintain the rhythm of the song in their dance. She wants to roll her eyes, kick him in the groin, or maybe flirt back. “Jon, I-” She blurts out, high pitched and anxious.

He almost falters in his step, eyes widening and he squeezes her hand in silent acknowledgement. “You shouldn’t say that out loud.” He tells her softly, inching closer. Somehow his austere expression melts away and Sansa could see her first love once more. But that almost meant seeing the fear he has, even until now, of his aunt.

All he ever wanted was love and to belong.

“If,” she tugs her lower lip and finds Jon’s attention glued to that action. “If we were different people in a different time, would you still love me? Would this have lasted longer?” She _had_ to know there was a chance in her folly question. What they have now, it’s in ruins too complicated to mend and the risks for exposure of them would be catastrophic for Jon’s family.

There it is again, his grey eyes boring into her like he could read her thoughts. He inched her closer to him, her breath is sure to fan over his cheeks, their noses nearly touching.

“I don’t want to think about that. It’s too far away. We’re here, _now._ ” Jon answers, rushed and almost carefree. His focus roved along her face, briefly on her mouth, then returned to gazing into her eyes. His hand cupped her hip firmer, in a way he shouldn’t because they are with other people.

“You don’t love me anymore. Perhaps you never did, not as much as I do- _did for you._ ” Sansa inferred. It pained her to voice it out, for him to hear how affected she was by his indifference. This is the only reasonable conclusion she has at hand. Why else would he cut ties with her?

“You’re the one to talk. You left me first.” Jon argued with an eye roll.

Sansa huffed and almost wanted to cross her arms out of annoyance. “When did I out rightly say that we should breakup? I _waited_ for you for damn near a year.” She bit out like a fierce wolf, snapping at those who annoy her.

“Well so did I!” Jon insisted. “I, I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I thought you got together with that Hardyng prick because he was nearer to you.” His voice is rougher than gravel but the grief is he heard all the same. “Look, ugh, it’s whatever. You’re with Dickon now and I’m with her.”

“Hey don’t you “whatever” our relationship.” Sansa reprimanded with a frown. She feebly swatted his arm and they tried not to laugh.

_He still remembers Harrold? Wait a second here. How could we both have waited for our letters to come?_

Everyone around them clapped to signal the end of the song. To an extent, it popped the bubble they inadvertently trapped themselves in.

She saw Jon’s perplexed expression as well, catching the missing aspects in their story. “We should talk, but now with them around.” Jon decided, slowly releasing her hand though not without a brush of his thumb on his knuckles.

She sensed the mutual confusion on their confession. Something is not adding up to this. And they’re going to figure this out, together. “Meet me at the bakery across from here on Monday around lunch.” She instructed.

He nods in agreement.

“Will you sleep with her tonight?” Sansa asked but dulled the sharpness of her tone. She hopes she sounded casual, like talk of the weather but amusement crossed Jon’s face and she knew it was futile to pretend.

It’s been the third time tonight in seeing Jon’s ghosting smile. “I won’t. It’ll make you even more jealous.” He jokes but before she could reply with a retort, he reciprocated the question. “Will-will _you_ sleep with him tonight?”

“He’s an acquired taste and once is enough.” Sansa coyly answers, looking at Jon through her lashes. “You do know we never got pass French kissing right? Like it was amazing, mind you.”

“I don’t mind. Please carry on complimenting my kissing skills when I was seventeen.”

Sansa makes a sound to reply but Dickon and Arianne was approaching them with smiles. He lets Arianne walk him towards the table as did Sansa. His free hand though, fleetingly held hers and before a second pass, it fell to his side once more.

_Wolves mate for life._ Father lectured her brothers once when they went hunting. _You have to be careful of the female; they’re particularly protective of their mate._

_And he’s right._ Sansa thought, glancing at Jon before facing Dickon, as she formulated a breakup plan.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got carried away and will probably eat more popcorn afterwards. hope its alright and downright dramatic


End file.
